Thursday, July 30, 2009

The 'You Will Never Read This' Letter

Dear Friend,

I know it's been two years since I last spoke to you. No doubt you still tell our other friends whom I also, no longer speak to; how confused you are about my silence.
I wish you could see inside my head sometimes, and know that it has nothing to do with not loving you. In fact you may never understand how much I still feel connected to you, even though I'm quite sure I may never speak to you again.

Today I was thinking about that letter you wrote me. You know... the one you left on my door, just before I moved away without telling you. I still have it somewhere. I only keep the best ones.
In my heart you and I are still dear friends, and will always be such.
If I could make you understand that your sorrow was just too great for me to manage. You cried every night for two years, and then your mother died the morning I moved. I knew it would be the last time I called you to offer my condolences.

You were so afraid of me leaving you. You told your mother that I was like a sister to you... and she treated me like a daughter. Her death was no less sad to me than the death of my own Grandmother... and yet I will still keep my silence. I will still only write this letter... and never send it.
You remember when I told you I just do this. I just drift away like a cloud. No rain in my body... just wind and sky.
I have said goodbye to so many; so maybe it's become too easy for me. But listen.... I don't miss you. I hardly miss anyone I leave except my Monster. Not because I don't care... because I do. I feel you and I are still together. If I had carried you inside my body like I did my monster, I would feel something inside me rip, like a warn out seam.
I guess maybe that is the only way to secure my physical connection. I have to carry you inside my body.

I hope you can feel me writing this to you. My head is pounding as I thump out the words. My feelings are raw and severe.
I think of all the letters I've written like this one, and all the ones to come. Maybe I will put them in a box, and bury them in the dirt, or send them off to sea. A box the size of a coffin.... the death of all my short stories... a lifetime of memory.

With all my love as ever,

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