mirrors are so last season

Dear K-

I think there is something healthy in eventually letting go. After an appropriate period of mourning, we bury our dead. We can't keep those things around, because they just rot and decay and turn into something so distorted and far from what we remember them as, what they truly were, that it only sullies what once was, what we loved. The same applies to memories and past lovers. We can't keep such things hanging around for too long. Maybe, a few years later, once the grass and weeds have grown over the grave soil that formed a scar on the earth, we can dig up the bones and examine them like a scientist. Cold, distant, like an archeologist pondering over the history of an unearthed relic. But for now, you need to bury the dead. You've been holding onto that corpse for a bit too long and the air was starting to smell foul and sour.

If only life were as neat and beautiful as you write it. I am going to keep hoping for that remarkable character you describe, but who deep down I know can't exist. But maybe that's what holds me back. My cynicism is my downfall. But fuck it, I'm tired of putting so much value in the result of a wild goose chase.

I dropped everything and went north to the nation's border. I had to get out of the city. I've spent the last few days doing little except for sitting outside, drinking black coffee, and reading. This is what I am, more than anything. My bones feel so at ease here, with no expectation and no demands. But a voice deep down in the well of my heart whispers that it is only temporary. Even if I were to cut all ties and stay up here to live this lifestyle, it would lose its allure and grow dull. I would become restless, just as I always do. But for now it is beautiful. It is beautiful. You are beautiful. I am beautiful. And we don't need any fucking mirrors to know that. Mirrors are so cliche these days. I don't know about you, but I've broken all mine. I spun them like plates on my finger tips and then I shattered them on the rocks of the river bed.

Some days it might be better to be the third horse. Just enough resistance to keep the rider alert that at any moment I might change my mind, that I am only now giving in because perhaps it just so happens to suit my whims. But I know for now I am the fourth horse, bruised and bloody but still refusing the path presented. Stubborn until the end, blind to whether it may be advantageous to obey this time. True to myself, but also perhaps selfish beyond forgiveness.

If you have the gift of prophesy, I must be blessed with the gift of introspection. I can dissect myself apart better than the most gifted surgeon. It's the only time my hands can stop from shaking. I leave a little tally mark on one of my ribs every time I perform the procedure. It is so covered in the little grooves that I might need to start in the next rib soon. I should really never been worried about what other people might say or do to me, because I know it will never do as much damage or cause as much hurt as what I myself am capable of.

And as for your tattoo...pics or it didn't happen.

Off for more coffee,
-k