I wrote you a letter that never made it into the mailbox, words that told of my feelings and their wandering nature. Funny, how an envelope can travel across the globe delivering mundane sensations of contempt or uselessness, and yet I can sit here contemplating how there was no return address on my heart. When I left it, I didn’t need a carrier pigeon or a man going door to door, I handed it over freely from my palm to yours. We were one, in one place living different lives with different versions of each other standing side by side, but then I left. As much as I’d hoped to start anew and dive into the deep sea of opportunity that awaited a new born individual such as myself, I hit concrete thousands of miles down. There was no sound when I landed, just a stack of my own mail filled with debts and wishes that it’d get better soon. Now that months and months have passed, I can stand on my own, genuinely admiring where I’ve landed, but behind me looms that cliff. No matter how far forward I march, I can still see it as clear as day, the path of least resistance toward a sure surface as flat as the Earth once was. So, after staring up towards the edge where we once stood, I decided to tell you how I miss you and I sat on my concrete floor to write you my letter. It began with “dear” and finished with “love,” sentiments that I was sure wouldn’t be lost to your finely-tuned ears. You would understand how much I miss being on the top of that cliff with you, in harmony, hands clasped tightly around each other. I never sent that letter though, for I was sure you’d simply let go and watch it flutter to the place my body crashed so long ago.

Submerged is the safest space to survive. Engaged in the touch of the wet on your skin is pure euphoria. Releasing yourself to the potential of distraction in the most serene fashion turns death into beauty. Ophelia wept down the stream, but I will float with a grin telling my tale of loss.

The wind makes the sea churn with its helpless whisper, for with love on the horizon, no ship shall safely sail on. Charybdis awaits the arrival of those enthralled by the murmur of an eternity of bright lights and laughter, those simple pleasures who are merely torturous rapids disguised. Swift justice comes for those who seek refuge in the comfort of another soul, for by then all hope of an individual existence is lost into the foam.

A beautiful complexity in the stillness,
The knowledge that human life is gone
But for the flicker of a candle,
The only source of this home’s light.