May 16th, Year of Silence

Matthew’s love letter:

These words, this letter in its entirety, will contain no breath, because it is overtaken by cowardice. It starts as all things must: Once upon a time, when I was a child, I believed there was nothing more important than bougainvillea in New Orleans, or zero-point, or rabbit holes, or baptismal rain, but never ‘and.’ As thoughts were solidified and limbs strengthened, the Matter of France, Rome, and Britain became my central focus. From them, the legend with the richest tapestry, and the loudest heart was weaved. It gave life to King Arthur, who had no choice but to rise out of hope and expectation.
The lesson he taught was the most devastating there was to learn, and it went as follows: Most of what we place any value upon, is an illusion.
This lesson and this myth produced such a panic in my heart, and in my footfall, that I became more corpse than human. The potential of a primal chaos residing within me, became a reality. It struck me that I lived in a world where shadows bind, but are not bound. The mandrake could not be called upon for assistance. The Mara was apt to seduce men with burning hearts, empty of an object and name to burn for.

Never weep for the dead, shamans say. And I do not. And I will not.

In dreams, you are not told of yourself, but of your other self. All it adds up to, and my math has always been poor to the point past pathetic, is that prayers are useless to the atheist. They entertain and their cadence, when recited correctly, distracts.

From start to finish, my disquietude was nothing more than a fabrication. My anxieties had nothing to do with anything I would publicly admit. I project my fears onto goblins and demons, so that I would never have to face the only truly magical and alchemical substance in existence – love. I loathed a feeling, an expression, that seemed and seems, unreasonable. But reason is subjective, which is never universal.

By now, you may be asking yourself how any of this could possibly relate to you. It is you who has awoken something in me, which pleased me more when it was comatose. I love you. There are no reasons for this. No virtues to enumerate. No logic for something I feel, and do not desire.
I cannot speak of the beauty your eyes possess, neither of the art in the way you speak, and not of the profundity of your soul.
It is not that you’ve no ownership of qualities that would impress and ardent cynic. It is simply that there are no reasons to my love, other than your very life. I love you, because you exist.

And so when you find yourself upset by things that overwhelm you into oppression, know that I believe in you with an unwavering faith. And when you feel lost, know that you are not, because I found you, when I have yet to find my own head. And when you feel you have nothing, I think you are everything, and that has to count for something. And when you find yourself traveling through the darkness, I have sent out will-o’-the-wisps to light your way home, if only you find the courage to open your eyes.

I am waiting and watching for you. From afar. From a distance. From nowhere near at all. I am waiting and watching for you.

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May 16th, Year of Silence

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