clarity

a prose letter for a friend 10/31/15

To whomever finds this,

I spend my time scrolling through a list of names. I search for a connection, for someone to write to because my words need to get out and I need some inspiration. And yet, none of the names or poems attached to them grab onto me like I need them to. A snippet here or there that takes my breath away, a line about the ocean and morning swims, another about a forever full of s**t and an ending that breaks me. I'm sorry. I know life is hard when one lives in a different life, stuck in the past and forever hoping for some sort of a future. I know you, it seems, yet we're strangers. I know you, but not as well as I could. I know your face and a name, but not the emotions that drive you to get out of bed when your heart aches to go back to sleep. I know the pain of memories, my friend. I know that secrets are sometimes meant to be shared and that other times there are secrets that no one could ever understand. I hope you know that you're not alone.

The ghosts of your memories will never win. I won't let them. Or, rather, you won't. I can't be there to stop them from hurting. I can't be there to jump on a grenade inside your mind that explodes without warning. You are more than a forgotten soldier, more than a boy, and more of a man than many I've known. You are many things, you outback gent with a wicked tongue and a heart full of words. And you have no idea of some things. You have no idea just how much you mean to so many people, no idea just how many times you've followed through on an unspoken promise to accept and to help, no idea that you've helped me, no idea that I'm writing this to you. To be honest, I didn't even know you were the one I was writing to. I was just writing, searching, hoping for a glimmer of that inspiration your words have given to me. Our stories are similar, but not the same... and I know you will listen.

 

Pardon my rantings and mumblings that don't make sense sometimes (you'll see what I mean in a moment), but at the same time they fit so perfectly into a letter for you. 

 

I love mangoes. I hate the mess. 

 

Now, knowing the meaning of your words, mine seem almost awkward. When you first wrote of the fruit, I had no idea where the letters were leading... but they pulled me in just the same. There's something about the way you write, how you put so much emotion into each image searing into my brain. Kindred souls, perhaps. Something about how we are taught to share but then don't want anyone else to share certain pains. And when we find someone who does, there's a motion or a movement or something poetic that brings us together. It can be truly confusing, sometimes. How we yearn for connection and then ache when we find it. We hope we're not alone and then sorry when we aren't. 

 

I'm sorry. 

 

I need to stop saying that. It's like my mantra or something... is it yours, too? Or is yours more independent, as I imagine you to be. (I'm not sure if that's a question or a musing, either way, I guess it doesn't really matter.)

 

Josh, what is it with you and black? I mean, I can understand how easy it is to get lost in the darkness (seriously, I've been there), but sometimes the dark can get lonely and the light can be scary and lonely can be such a more pleasant feeling than scared. Are you scared? Or lonely? Or just musing like I know a poet can? 

 

Part of me knows that the dark is never as lonely as it seems, but I also know that loneliness can be a welcome change from everything else in the world. I just wish no one ever felt the need to feel that way -- closed off and open and exposed all at the same time. I mean, that's part of poetry, isn't it? Being open and closed to whomever can or can't understand your words?

 

Maybe. Maybe I'm just tired. Maybe I'm just grasping at straws trying to turn out another poem. 

 

Good night, good sir. I think it is time for me to sleep. Perhaps I will wake up more refreshed and ready... ready to write a happy poem... ready to take on the world... but I have to close my eyes to find out.

 

Sincerely, 

 

someone.

 

P.S.   Be very proud of who you are. So many can't, so do it for them. Do it for me. Do it for you. Be proud.