Letter To Myself

Dear Duke,

I think it is better to die without regrets.  That, of course, is hard to do.  I’ll need to make time for this. Check my schedule. We are all connected through the life behind each thought. The structure of our minds breaking down is our collective depression. The world has made a series of mistakes that have placed all of us in a dark cave.  I’m afraid the forces that are bearing down upon us are inexorable.   I’m sorry.  It’s too late. As I sum the whole thing up, there’s nothing to be done. 

Which brings me to pain, the growing hole in our hearts.

The great thing about pain is there is an outer edge to it and the territory beyond is either sleep or death or waking numbness.  Our mutual reposes of body and mind. So, we either live with pain or die in its grip. Drugs slow the process.  Sometimes pain enters into our sleep.  That is the worst.  When we dream of pain, it inhabits all of our images and it drowns us until we wake up … in pain.  I guess there is something fitting about the dream of pain.  It’s like a steer jumping out of the meat packer’s truck and running down the street, slipping and sliding on the concrete.  Taking a turn into a dead-end alley, hoping to escape the hammer to the head, but ending in the squeeze chute, where the beasts are laid low for somebody’s hamburger.

I used to wear cotton strings tied around my wrists.  They were yellow or red, sometimes green.  The strings represented a vow and were knotted by a lover.  We told each other in the dark that we would never cut them off with knife or scissors.  We would let them fray and decay until they flew away, like a baby bird, and we would look down at them on the floor or find them in bed when we rose and, in those moments, we would remember the fragile beauty of touching, how easy it was to lose. 

I once had an office job, one of the few in my life, and my boss noticed the string tied around my wrist.  He asked me to take it off because it was too informal, too indicative of a lifestyle he did not share.  I thought about it for an hour or so and told him I was quitting.  He asked, why?  I replied, life was tied by a string and someday he would understand. He looked at me with the eyes of a wall.

Let us try to stay steady, in this, our dying time where our thoughts darken the days.  Let us set sail, away from the sun, unafraid, as best we can.

Love.  Duke.  PS, try to get some sleep tonight. 

8 thoughts on “Letter To Myself

  1. Certainly best to die with as few regrets as possible. I’m glad you quit that office job, Duke. That poor wall-eyed guy….perhaps he understands what you meant now. Hope you get some sleep. xo

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Memories of relationships as decaying string bracelets, if only they’d fall away as permanently as your colored twine. I still dream of my first true love, one I never resolved. I wish she’d leave me in peace. Then again… hers might have been the only one that was honest.

    Liked by 1 person

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