It’s been a while since I opened up to you like this. Or perhaps I should explain this to you differently. I understand that letters from me to you, as in myself, do not come the same as they used to. Then again, nothing is the same as it used to be.
This is me.
Just saying.

This is a letter to “self” or, in other words, this is me talking to you so that I can keep an open line of communication because I need to believe. I have to.
Besides, I’d rather believe and trust the process or try and do something, rather than let the sands of time slip away, and do nothing so I lose everything.
I’m sorry.
I just can’t do that.

It is far from me now, the times of tomorrow,
and the dreams or the wheels that are in motion and yes,
I am far from where I had hoped to be. But I’m on my way.
I know I am.

It’s far now, as far as physical distance may be.
Or perhaps the distance between me and “it”
or the space between you and I
which is only a matter of relativity.
(In theory, of course)

I’m not sure why people mistake honesty, as if to mean that something is wrong or that when someone speaks from the heart, people assume something is ripping them apart.
No.
Sometimes, you need to say what’s on your mind.
You need to vent.
You need to let off steam, and yes, the idea of emotional dumping is not the best look, and neither is this an advised idea to speak so openly to random or everyday people.
I would never call this optimal. Neither is sharing your details with anyone and everyone. To be clear, speaking openly can often lead to an external judgment or problems with assumptions at a later date.
I agree that there needs to be discretion when it comes to this.

In all fairness,
I don’t believe that anyone
can pass their own test.
What I mean is,
I think it’s easy to point fingers
or to assign blame
and come up with excuses
or rationalize your acts
with ideas to justify the things we say
or do—

But in all fairness,
no one can pass their own test.

And then there is music.
There has always been music, always playing and always singing to the heart in which, at some point, I rise and fall and find myself situated like a kid in the hallway, (remember?) waiting for the bell to ring and explode through the double-doors of some unwanted institution, crazy as ever, wild too, or insane as it is with any kid alive and unwell in the middle of crazy teenage angst.
Yes, this was me.
Long haired and mad, crunching my teeth, defiantly, and biting down on a filter at the top of a Camel cigarette or the smoke of choice, Marlboro Reds, which were the preferred brand amongst my crowd of wild teenage burnouts. High as ever, and clueless, while thinking (of course) that I knew everything. But hey, this is what kids think all the time, right?

Well?
The truth is I still struggle with this.
But I don’t really know anything.
Do I?

No one said this would be an easy task. Then again, no one ever told me that anything worthwhile would be easy.
Nothing is ever easy. Or maybe there is no easy or hard—there just “is.”

I don’t know why we can’t be honest. I don’t know why we have to hide what we think or how we feel. And I’m not to sure why honesty leads to vulnerability and vulnerability is assumed to be weakness. But weak or strong, brave or not, I think it takes courage to be honest.
I think it take balls to say hey, this is me. This is how I feel, right or wrong, good or bad.
I think this shows dignity.

America,

I have not forgotten you.
I have not forgotten what you mean to me, who you are,
or how I feel when I hear them sing to you.

I have not forgotten the rights and the wrongs
or the mistakes from our past.
I have not forgotten the people who have poisoned you
nor can I forget the wrongs, which we have done
And I say we, — not you,
but we, or us as a group or nation, or as a society,
and perhaps divided as ever, I understand
the crucial truth behind
the basic principles of terrorism
which is to divide
and conquer.

It is beyond me. The world, I mean. People, places, and things are all beyond my control. No matter what I say or do, or no matter how I try, I have to learn that this is a fact.
Even if it pains me, even if this breaks my heart, and even if I hate what takes place, I have to remember that sometimes, this is all beyond me.

I think about the competition of self. I think about the battles which take place in the mind.
I think about the times when I rehearsed what I would say and how different it was when the moment of truth was at hand.
And sure, I’ve rehearsed in front of mirrors before.
I’ve practiced my speech, many times.
Haven’t we all?