An Unsent Letter


I decided this was a letter worth writing a few weeks ago while I was staring out of a window in Brooklyn. High in the sky. It’d be an omission of the facts if I didn’t tell you I strongly feel your words led me to this point. Is that strange? I know you wouldn’t believe so. Your prose has always haunted me with a deep familiarity, as I assume it does for many others. This is why we write. This is why we read. We know each other are out there.

While I struggled with writing my own, I read yours. I devoured it. Knowing a sort of inspiration could and would be found within its depths. As I continued and as I finished, I became crippled with the realization I would not finish my own book without something more from myself. Some of your last few passages directly mentioned things that have heavily impacted my existence. The specific nature would seem eerie if I didn’t believe the way I believe. If I didn’t claw onto the moments where I can kick over logic and reason only to implement the opposite. Those last pages did something to me. They moved me. They caused a reaction I found myself unable to contain. I sat alone in the dead of dark, my mouth agape.

Does it seem odd? Odd to write a letter to a perfect stranger saying their craft was something that was helping me hone in on my own? One that further stoked me to press my body into a moment that caused me to seek something that was once lost? It does seem odd. But, it doesn’t seem wrong. These are the words I would wish to know. What is a life of holding back truths?

Where there is life, there is death. The universe recycles our moments. The empty apartment I found myself standing inside of in a city I once loved. The ending of your ending that laid out a map, directing me there. The necessary completion of a phase.

The life that was birthed from all of this is what I will always hold onto and dearly thank you for. I relished in the emotions that come from standing back to watch something as beautiful as love live and die… only to be re-birthed.

I’ve found my words. I’ve found the ending to my beginning. I’m always reminded how much I do not know. I knew the magic would find me when the timing was right. Because timing really, truly, is everything.


Returned by USPS [Unable to Forward]:
March 26, 2016

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