Thursday, July 15, 2010

Closed Letter to _________ __________.


Only because everything is ok. Strange, right? Nothing to repair. Nothing to forgive. We are just and simply present . That established, the news of your recent arrival brought such joy. When I heard, and realized I was rejoicing—unabashed by anything—I felt it might be time.
(Speaking of time, it’s 4 am. Nick Drake is selling Volkswagons on the television. If all you ever did was introduce me to him I’d love you forever. Leaving work I’m often a little depressed. And sometimes he’s singing about the morning as I drive into the sunrise. And I breathe in deep, and fill up with some mysterious happiness, and catch my breath on the verge of mysterious happy tears for something beautiful at the edge of my peripheral vision. And all alone in my car I smile. You brought me this by saying his name. But look at me already distracted.)

Long ago you wanted closure. For whatever reason, we seemed to discover together that for us there can be no such thing. I won’t try to offer it now. But maybe a few question marks can be eliminated, and in doing so maybe a truth or two can receive its due. . .

[this section censored by authorities]

No requests. Not even hope. Except for your happiness, there is nothing I want in this world. I don’t even have to know where you are. Just that you are. And that you know.