I suppose the ideas of doubt can be debilitating. Then again, the feelings of worry are real to me and hence, life without you is strange enough, let alone life on the fly is just life on the fly.
Or am I out of my mind again?
Am I too vague again or too crazy this morning?
I suppose I am.
But who isn’t?

Maybe this letter from me is more to vent than it is for me to reach you. Or maybe reaching you is more important to me than air, food, water, and the sense of touch.
In fact, I can say that yes; reaching you would mean the world to me.
But then again, you are elsewhere now and on the other side of the world, which is odd enough because the truth is you are nowhere different from where you’ve always been
(in my head)
Or maybe I am being too sensitive again.
Could that be it?
Wait, no . . .
Maybe I am worrying about the downfalls and thinking how the critics have never been on my side to begin with.
Perhaps I am tired and thus, I am not myself this morning.
But who is?

The hours at night are long and sleepless. Therefore, insomnia and I have been together for quite a long time.
Too long.
But insomnia and me are what we have always been.
It’s been too long since I felt a sense of peace.
Hence, this is the reason why I vent.
I need an break . . .
. . . .but there are no breaks on this conveyor belt, otherwise known as the production line of life.
I am not typical, like some of the other factory workers and it would be inaccurate to say that I am a deadbeat or that I am dead, by any means.
But feelings and facts are often different from one another.
And I?
me?
well, I am me and being me is often trickier than it appears to be.

It is far from me now. The past, of course.
It is even further from me, the wishes I have for an easier life.
Put your shoes on . . .
get to work . . .
make a plan
and pull it together.
What other choices do we have?

Or maybe I just want to feel human again. Maybe I want to find a sense of compassion.
Maybe I need an escape for a while.
Maybe I’m tired of the back and forth arguments. I’m tired of hearing about politics.
I’m tired of listening to people tell me about my life, when the truth is they have no clue.
Maybe I’m tired of people who come around with the need to get the last word in.
And that’s fine.
Get the last word in.
I doubt that having the last word or the last laugh is enough to make a change in this world.

Come to think of it –
Vengeful thinking leads me to vengeful living.
It takes anger to live this way. And living this way is draining.
trust me.
I know.
I’ve drained myself of all that I had.
And now what?

It takes a special kind of rage to be vengeful.
And it takes a special kind of hatred too.
I cannot say that I miss my previous life and nor can I say I blew it all on a lie, which I did.
But I can say that I have these ideas in my head, like, say, long walks down country roads and fishing in little ponds and letting the sun touch my face.
I had something good.
And good is nice.
But what I had was not what I wanted.
I know this.
And so do you.

I know there is no going back and looking backwards does nothing else but distracts my attention from seeing the possibilities which lay ahead.
And please . . .
let me see something
let me find some brightness in the otherwise gloom of a morning after the aftermath.

Nothing is going back to the way it was.
I know this
And so does everyone else.
including you . . .

There is no reason to live angry
Yet, we do this very well.
I am sorry . . .
I breathe  . . .
Inhale deep, hold, and then exhale.
One more time.
Inhale deep, hold and exhale.
Breathe in through the nose and out through the mouth.
they say this helps.
But does it?
Let me try again.
Breathe in, Deep.
Hold
Breathe out. Hard!
Pause
Repeat
and breathe again

I noticed the trains were delayed this morning.
I noticed there was a shake-up of some kind and then by some miracle, I made it to work and yes, I immediately wished that I was somewhere else.

I think I need to create a better plan.
I think I need to find my escape.
I need to make some choices and to be clear, I need to make smart ones.
I need to plan my strategies because once the emotional storms let me go and the war is over, I am going to leave and be gone from this place.

I need that feeling of quiet and the sun on my face.
Nothing around me is so bad.
I need to feel that calming breeze that moves the hair away from my eyes.
I need to look at the waters at some small little pond and watch the sunlight reflect across the ripples at the water.

There is no going back to where I was.
I know this.
But there is no reason why I cannot create something better than what was and yes, once I have this and once I build this; trust me!
I will never let this go
Or you
But somehow, I think you know despite all the gravity and the heaviness of things –
I haven’t let go
not when it comes to you
I never will.
And that’s the only “never” i choose to believe in

It would be the same to me if you and I walked down the street and went a different way. In fact, it would be all the same to me if you and I walked away and came back to the same places we used to meet and feel like total strangers.
Yes. I agree.
The world is a strange place.

I would say that time confused us and of course, our distance from one another led us to believe that perhaps our paths were not supposed to cross
But they did cross. Our paths cross more than once, and convincingly enough, our paths seem to cross all the time. At least, that’s what I think.
I wonder about this too because I wonder if one half can wait for the other half, which a person or a soul who is waiting for their other half and yet, their other half is never destined to return.

Ah, and to you . . .
You are my greatest joy as well as my greatest and heaviest downfall. You are my temptations and my easy fix.
At the same time, nothing is easy about this, or about me or about how and who I am at the moment.
You are my drive for the feel of something better than a drug and yet, my addiction comes with more withdrawals than any other brand of so-called “medication.”
You are my fascination with beautiful relief as well as my urge for instant gratification and yes, you are a connection to all things lustful, sinful, greedy and otherwise attached to a selfish need.

You are the symptom known as, “I want what I want,” and whenever you come of whenever I see her; you know that I always want it now.
I can’t wait.
I can’t stop myself either.

Dear Regret 

You and I have known each other for as long as I can remember. In fact, i am sure that you knew me before i had the words or the language to call you my oldest friend.
That is, if you are a friend.
And let’s face it, friends to do not let friends down, or leave them alone when they’re needed the most.

You are very much a part of me as much as your other friends, like shame, blame, fault and guilt. In fact, I have decided to call you the five fingers because something happens when you get together. Something happens when we interact with blame, shame, fault, guilt and regret all at once. And I call you the five fingers because each of you represent the way our fingers ball into a fist, and this is the fist that we use to beat ourselves up with.
Blame, shame, fault, guilt, and regret . . .
The five fingers of rejective thinking.

Dear  Amends,

I know that I have to meet you halfway, or all the way, if I am going to be true to this.
I have to go all the way now, even if no one accepts me (or this) and even if I remain unforgiven, I still have to bend at the knee and be humble.
I have to do this for no other reason than to rid myself from the past and my past aggressions, intrusions and invasions can no longer have power over me.
Let the blackmailers have their day in court.
Yes. I am guilty.
I painted the door black.
I signed on the dotted line and therefore, I have to pay for what I agreed to.

Dear Angels Above

The sunrise was something different this morning. Amazing, I say.
This was beautiful, of course, which is not unlike you. But the sunrise today was different, just the same.
Maybe this was a message for me. Or maybe this was an offering of some kind.
Or maybe this was a symbol or a sign that signified a change is on the way.
At least, God, I hope so.
The weight gets too heavy now and my bones cannot always take the load or carry the weight.

I was told every day is a new beginning.
I was told this a long time ago but my mind was caught in the cobwebs of my old familiar patterns, which kept me stuck in the past and otherwise locked in a process known as “more of the same.”

Dear Devil You Know.

It is another morning and the opposition and tension is mounting. But you already knew this.
Then again, the tension is always thick enough to be cut with a knife.
I know.
There is always someone or something out there, looking to pull their tricks.
I know that it’s not just you.

I also know that this has always been another one of your tricks.
I know how you look to keep me guessing.
Or to keep me on my heels, just so i can run to you when I am afraid
. . .or uncomfortable.

I guess my question to you is where did the time go?
Where has the time gone and when did everything change?
How did we go from this to that or that to this?
I don’t know. . .
Or is this all too vague to ask you while heading to work in the morning on a westbound train?

I know.
Early to bed, early to ruse is supposed to make a man healthy, wealthy, and wise.
I do not feel any of the above at the moment.

I agree when people tell me that days should never lose their meaning. However, there are days that come with titles or certain affiliations that come with different meanings and connections. There are birthdays and anniversaries. There are holidays or days that took place and changed our life and altered our direction for the rest of our days on Earth.
I cannot, will not and I do not say that life is fair and nor is there anything fair about the way life happens.
Life happens to everyone. Of course, this happens to everyone.

No one escapes or gets away unscathed or unmarked, untouched, or unbruised. And yet, this is life.
This is everything life is supposed to be, complete with sunny skies and rainy days.
Life is complete with ups and downs, trials, tribulations, rises and falls and failures and successes.
Joy. Pain.
Live, love, laugh, and learn.
These five things which I mentioned above are basic facts of life. 

I remember trying to gather my thoughts, or at minimum; I wanted to gather my sanity and find out how to maintain at least a semblance of self and appear sane. But I am not sane.
I am not crazy or so crazy because I would rather believe that love is real or that love can exist, even in the imperfections of life or that two people can fit perfectly, despite their dissimilar edges.

But ah, that distant definition of sanity was all too crazed and all too far and all too blurry for me to see clearly.
This is it . . .
This is the jumping point or the platform to which we can either springboard or dive and fall and hit the bottom of our doubts.

And then one day, you just let go.
Like, wow . . .
And suddenly all is well.
Be advised, however, that the day does not always come quickly and the trips around the world do not come easily. But rest assured, a morning comes and somehow, the sunrise looks different.
You see yourself in the mirror.
You feel the need to “clean house” so-to-speak.
No more reliving old conversations or rehearsing what you’ll say next, if you ever see that person again.

I always say the same thing.
If you don’t know then you won’t know. Or if you don’t know then I guess you can’t know, which is fine because this is not to say that I or you or anyone else is better or worse. Not at all.
This is only to say that sometimes, the earth we feel comes with a different sensations. My hands have touched different things and therefore, the feel of silk or velvet will have a different meaning to me.
The same can be said about the smells we smell or the sounds we hear and how they are all mixed like special ingredients that give depth and substance to our memories.
My memories are mine and some people will never understand them. However, I am sure that you are one of the “Some” who would understand and “get it,” if I told you about them.
And, I have told you.

Where does the time go?
It’s hard to think about this but yesterday was your birthday
I guess it’s true what they say. Time flies.

No one ever knew your real age. Or so you’d tell us. And maybe this is true. Maybe you lied about your age for so long that even you forgot how old you were. Or maybe age is just a number.

Good morning.

I hope and trust that this find our spirits at a good time and that my letter serves a purpose for you.
I was up again, last night. Of course, this is nothing new for me or for you.
But such are battles we face.

I was told about the idea that perhaps I should surrender to win. I was told that if I surrender, then I can come to terms with the way things are instead of fighting with them which makes sense.

Nothing hit in last night’s attack.
But this is common with imaginary wars.
I know.
Today is Sunday and the morning was more than I expected.

The sky was blue and everything was green. The trees, the grass, the leaves, and all the colors of Earth are alive in springtime and showing themselves off in full bloom.
I am doing my best.
Or better yet, at least I can say that I have managed to remain consistent.
At least with this. I am still consistent with coming here or to sit with you, if there is such a thing.
All of this, my letters, my dialogues, and journals, and my internal truths and my external dilemmas are all alive and well and still real to me.
So are you.

And so we skipped along, like two kids, grown and reliving the ideas of what it means to be young and to feel alive.
Nothing in the world is as freeing or as redeeming as this feeling.
I write this to you, or my future you to which one day I am hoping that this becomes us and we become them.
There is an us and them. At least, I know this is so in my soul
or so I hope.

I think like anyone else does.
I’d like to be free. I’d like to get away.
I’d like to take a trip or maybe find somewhere that I could rest and not think so much.
I’m sure that you understand.

I know that you have been through things like this before too.
Everyone has.
We all go through our ups and downs. Or at least, so they tell me.
And that’s the thing about life.
No one gets out alive.

I have a question for you.
How do you let go?
How do you detach or how do you disconnect when something inside of you refuses to let go?
How?

I still dream.
Then again, I think you know this.

We are rounding another corner, you and I.
More happens each day and sometimes, too much happens. Am I right?
And this always sees to happen, all at once.
I agree.
I agree that our plate is full. I agree that the tension can be thick, at times, or like now.
See?

It is quiet now.
The morning is about to unfold and for now, nothing is pressing.
Nothing is about to explode. And I agree, there are things which are happening, and they are not all too pleasant and the people we face are not all too kind.
I understand this.

It is morning here in Purgatory. They say the rain should hit us by this afternoon, but I don’t know these things.
The sunrise was kind and nice enough to make me believe that today would be better spent elsewhere or doing elsewise.
I’m sure you understand.
I’d rather be doing anything besides driving alongside The East River on a Saturday morning to pull another overtime shift. Not that I mind the sight of The East River at sunrise. I like the way morning looks here. I like the memories I have from my downtown scene and the more successful days, which are behind me, of course —but ah, at least I can say that I was here.

Dear you . . .
And you too . . .

The morning was interesting to say the least. I am not well in the sense that I can feel something in my body. And I don’t know if this is means there is a change on the way. I don’t know if the change is good or bad or sudden or slow.
But I have that feeling, like I did when I was young and waiting for a note from my teacher to hit the mailbox.
I hated that feeling, like something was coming my way.

And so this one starts here. And Like I’ve said before, where else does anything start?
Everything starts from the beginning.
Or like any other journal or any other page, this one marks the first page of a new start with hopes to open a new pathway to a new life.

A new life.
What a concept . . .