IMAGINARY LETTER No. 3
This is coming to you from the blue down under. It is at a time like this that I miss knowing your thoughts. My thoughts are always guarded but you are my warden.
I can’t hurt you and I have no one to whom I can turn in this prison cell. I believe in God but we don’t get along. He has left our feeble Will in charge of kindness and mercy. He gives, yes, yet He takes away in equal measure. That is emptiness.
If only I had never met you. If only I had never seen the sun. The sun also ariseth, and the sun goeth down, and hasteth to his place where he arose.
Then I fill the dark vacuum with the memories of you. Memories of you abide in me. And usually at times like these the memories of you can be animated enough by me to talk to me, yet this time my bridge of extrapolation washes away in sadness.
I have to write to you as if you are there.
Call me. Call me in your memory. I would rather shelter there. Let me be the extrapolation from which there is awakening and sorrow no more.
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But, the most ancient scrolls are kept on: THE TABLE OF MALCONTENTS