I never thought I’d address another letter like that. I never thought I’d write a letter like this. The truth of the matter is I’m not over you. It feels as though either I’m a mad man in a sane world or else I am a sane man in a mad world. Everything around me feels so normal and yet there is conflict. Nothing within me feels normal. You took with you all my happiness in one fell swoop. Though you could not have stolen my joy, for that is of course in Christ rooted, I fear I have lost track of it. Beyond that page, I am an exile from the band hall way again. That is every fault of yours and no fault of your doing. It is of my own volition that I refrain from returning there, for fear not of what you will do but for fear of you. Seeing you is a hammer driving a spike in my heart or a twisting dagger in my lungs. Yet, beyond, every other thing seems normal. It is, and perhaps should be, as though the event which shattered my little world and heart was not even big enough to cause a ripple amongst my peers. I realize it is egocentric to expect anything else, yet it is hard to accept. I feel as though I am a mad man amongst the sane and no one even notices my madness.
All of my friends and family say I ought to have abandoned all hope of you. Yet should I? I suppose the question seems odd, allow me to rephrase it. Should I give up on something I loved and wanted to fight for without fighting for it? Is that a manly or even human thing to do? Doesn’t even a wren fight back against a falcon when it’s nest is invaded and that which it loves is jeopardized? Beyond that, if I give up hope in you, will I not be left in despair? If I abandon hope then what point is there? Certainly all my peers expect me to find some point swiftly and work with such. They see what are the products of this broken heart. They witness all changes in my demeanor. They worry as they read my writing. They each advise me to move beyond you. To forget you like some foul nightmare, some fantasy which can only harm me in the night if I allow it to. Yet even by my own standards, many of these are amoral, atypical, or sick individuals, hardly the peers in which I ought to trust my own well being. Yet I know if I had no hope of you, in any way shape or form, I could not predict the results. Perhaps it would be liberating, maybe it would be crippling. Maybe it would let me pick up the scattered pieces of my heart, or perhaps it would blow it like chafe in the wind. I don’t know. I know though that the quantum state I am in, where hope and despair sit juxtaposed in an impossible balance is unstable. My heart is the cat in the box. It is both dead and despairing and alive and hopeful and loving and loathing and in pain and in pleasure and good and evil until you open it up and collapse a hundred thousand quantum waves of me in a single explosion. Then either I may from the ashes of that explosion rise like a Phoenix, or else I’ll be left with my heart as but a dead cat. Yet still, when every evil departs from Pandora’s box are we not left with hope?
If ever you loved me write me back. No strike that, rather, for all the aloha I gave you, write me back. Without an answer I am torn in a million directions. I write all this in hope for some end to this pain and madness I am in.
With all love,
Your “Poet Player”,