to whom it may concern,
i have decided to take a short, 365 day vacation during which i will not be responding to any and all texts, emails, facebook messages, tiktok DMs, phone calls, et cetera. now, i know what you’re thinking— “oh my god, they finally had that psychotic break we’ve all been waiting for”, which is a fair judgement, but presently untrue. i also know what your second thought is— “wait, is this just a cleverly disguised suicide note?” which, again, fair, but no. i simply decided that it was about time that i got ahead on a few creative projects— that DnD campaign, that graphic novel, crochet, all that good stuff.
i understand this may be confusing. most people who talk about running away into the woods are simply daydreaming, but not i. this is one hundred percent my actual real-life plan for the next 52 weeks.
feel free to write a letter, or even stop by if you feel so inclined. perhaps i’ll leave a little riddle for you to solve and figure out my address. by the time you do, i should be about halfway through my first novel. i would love to share my progress when you arrive.
to keep this message short and sweet (maybe more sweet than short), i’ll leave you with all the well wishes i would normally send throughout the year. please space them out accordingly.
be safe (x45)
take care of yourself (x23)
talk to you tomorrow (x127)
i love you (x365)
the sins of the father
A man sits atop a black throne.
He pays no mind to the sinners below him— no mind to any but me.
For me, he keeps a special seat at his right hand;
A small, rusted rocking chair with paint peeling up at the edges.
He takes my hand, and then my heart, and then my name.
Makes no discrimination between touch and do not.
He keeps the water boiling hot.
I, the sinner, am victim of his temperament.
He rejoices and I am praised;
He suffers and I am made a villain.
Either way, I beg for forgiveness.
Either way, I end up kneeling.
It is hell not in experience, but in memory—
Hell not in newness, but in repetition.
The torture of living only surpassed by the torture of reliving.
I did not know to fear death.
I did not know who I would see.