This daily prompt is long gone, but still I’m battling to figure out who to write it to.
Picture the one person in the world you really wish were reading your blog. Write her or him a letter.
Who is the one person in the world I want to read my blog? Maybe you can tell me.
It’s been a long time since I’ve allowed you to enter my thoughts. I’ve been carefully stacking the shelves of your existence with copies of Eco and Kundera, Krog and Carroll. I’ve been doing well, how about you?
Time has passed so much now, and I feel both ancient and infantile at this new stage in my life. I am more comfortable in my skin now, the rush of teenage angst and insecurities has popped like a ripe, yellow pimple. My mind rests more easily these days, and I don’t blame you or me as much anymore.
I still flame up and curse the world at times, threaten to burn down the paper-thin walls of this luxurious mansion that time has instilled in my heart. It doesn’t heal, does it? It just adds padding to the gape.
I try not to think of you so much, it drives me to despair and shame. How did you survive, how did you escape? My mind isn’t able to understand the steps you took to where you are today.
Where are you?
What would I have done differently to save you, had I known the world was round and what went up also went down and four walls weren’t the limit for people like us?
Could we go back and try again? Rage like paper planes in the flame lit sky? Send up a primal cry against the ugly beast? Attack with the strength of butterflies, sure to die, but to die for something?
I didn’t believe in you enough to try.