Dear you, dear me: Letters to Myself (part I)

You have become the successful bearer of broken images…You have happened upon this frail person in all their glory of past regrets. You have drawn out the craving beast – The haunted animal that seeks to hunt

Part I of “Dear you, dear me: Letters to myself”

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Me,

My thoughts? Do you really want them? My heart? What could you use that for?

I think I see now, you beautiful monster. You don’t need the devil to twist it.

You’ve done it yourself.

No, the Prince of this world can idly watch you, a smile only tracing his gaunt lips.

You have become the successful bearer of broken images. You have indeed forced me into this tragic and magical series of follies. You have happened upon this frail person in all their glory of past regrets.

With their rewards of shattered dreams. Hiding in their shoes of sorrow

Well done, I must say, you have drawn out the craving beast

The lovely creature of burdens

The haunted animal that seeks to hunt

This foul heaviness has landed upon me now. Perhaps you will lift it from my weighted shoulders. Or is it you – you who have given me this burden which I have grown to bear?

Well then, it may be.

I will strive under your wings, for you are the image to which I live up to. You are the folly which I unknowingly and apparently worship. The island in my sea of floundering questions. The tree in my desert of unending heartache.

You may remain. I permit you. For while you scorch me with the words my ears long to hear, I do welcome your numbing presence.

Perhaps with your stay, you can convince me to no longer take up the trivial ideas of furthering my person. Perhaps you could, if you find I am unworthy and foolish enough, present a decent reason for this lingering illness that plagues my mental state. No, I am not tortured. My frame bears its health to the best of its ability. I am just concerned for my sanity.

You perhaps are the reason I tremble. You are the sweet and bitter voice in the night. The voice that fills my body and screams for another. You are the comfort that convinces of your sole presence. I have you, no one else.

Quite frankly, I prefer it that way. Just you and me. Yet I must admit there are times I am drawn to the presence of another, should that being exist. I am not forsaking my duty to you, but rather questioning my opportunity to believe in something as well.

This scares me. This being. It almost knows me as well as you understand my mind, if I dare say so myself.

What is this? What is happening.

I fear.

I often tremble.

I cry.

 

Sincerely,

me

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