I was reminded of my old friend Hank.
He and I used to walk from 7^th Avenue to 5^th after lunchtime.
Man, I used to love these walks.

How I met Hank is not important nor is this something that belongs in an open discussion. But at the same time, Hank and I shared a few ideas. We used to talk about life and go back and forth about our problems.

Everyone needs a break sometimes.
You need a day off. In fact, I think I need one right now.
Then again, I think I’ve told you about the song from Bill Joel called Vienna.
Right?
This world is a crazy place.
We are a special breed, you and I.
And I mean this with the best intentions.

Good morning, Sunday.
This is more than a letter, at least I hope so.
This is more like an extension of myself or the hopes to lay down the weapons. Perhaps this way, we can find a moment of peace.
I am told that my letters cannot reach you where you are now. I am told that you are part of the atmosphere or that you are simply elsewhere. Or maybe you are otherwise unreachable.
But I refuse to believe that.

I can tell you that there’s nothing like a breath of fresh air.
There’s nothing like being able to breathe when the air was nothing else but stagnant and thick, and somehow, or perhaps finally, a gust of wind blows passed your face and lifts your hair back.
And then it’s like, ah . . .
(Understand?)

I recall a morning, cold as ever, bright and beautiful and the world around me was still new.
I was young. The world was changing, and my life was about to take on a brand-new look.
I was on a farm. I was living in the middle of a time that I never thought I would rethink or look to revisit in my mind.
I lived on a farm in a small therapeutic community for 11 months. I was cleared from my past and facing the facts that I needed to undergo a change.

It is mild today, and still warm, yet,
this is more like a testament or a qualifying moment,
as if to be an elegy or serious reflection of say,
the tiny bits of mercury that rise and fall
like the seasons and the tide, which range from warm to cool—and still,
another year has been tallied
and calculated.
We are still alive, at least I think so.

I think the question makes sense to ask,
what does it mean to really be alive? If we are alive, does everyone know what it means to live?

I understand when you tell me how you’ve waited for so long, or how you’ve waited for tomorrow to come, but then you woke up, just to realize that tomorrow never showed up.
At least, not the way you thought it would.
I understand what it means to make plans. I suppose we all do.
Everyone has a plan. We have hopes and dreams.
We have ideas and we have wants and needs.

I know what it means to have a hope or to have a dream and then somehow, or perhaps drastically, I understand the shock that comes when our plans change, or didn’t work out, or come true.
Life is always unexpected.
Know this.

I have been coming here for years now. Then again, you already know this, at least that’s what I assume.
I come here to sit with you, like this, quietly.
But more than anything, I come here to motivate myself. I do this so I can start my day.
Sometimes, I come here to expose myself, or to free myself from the burdens of thought.
Other times, I come here to spill myself in the black and white version of letters and words, sentences and paragraphs. I do this to build something for myself. I do this to include you more in my life and yes, i do this because I need to.
This is part of me now, just like my heart beat or the blood in my veins or the breath in my lungs, these journals and the contents within them are all part of me.
I share them no matter what, and regardless if this reaches my intention or the destination or if this opens you up to me, more or less, I still have to try.

Life is happening. All the time.
The question about this is simple. Even when the answers are unfriendly or when the answers are unlikeable, the answers are simple too.

There will always be a choice. We might not like the choices. We might not favor either of them and sometimes, there will be days when we have to choose the lesser of two evils.
I know.
Either way, the questions are simple.
And so are the answers.

I am not fit to judge. I am not better or worse than you or anyone else. I have no right to point fingers nor am I fit to say who is righteous and who should be saved, who could be fixed, and who will always be broken.
I have no time for talks like this.