It’s a lie if I said I haven’t been writing. Another lie: as if the previous year in all its shambles meant nothing to me. It has, always, except, as you know prior to our parting: I am surrounded by circumstances that prevent me from completely facing this, the entire story admixed and diluted between all the work needed to be done to pursue an agreeable future. “Keeping going” and “Be strong”, harped sage advice and common sense. And so I did: took whatever was left of this heart and kept sloughing forward – day after day I kept on: each new experience a means to distract and relieve from the last. I changed, mostly from necessity to forgive myself rather than the actual desire to differ. The few friends I kept close immediately took to notice: B, friend since forever the only person to ever pick up at 3am, usually says how I’m living THE life and I’m not really sure what this means; F periodically reminds me to make time for myself; P – Best In Conviction and Moral Compass – threatened to end our friendship if I continued carrying out a toxic endeavor. D I only ever see in conventions or over beer; N took me in her house like a little orphan a few times; M promises to visit but never does; 2 friends got married, another gave birth – T told me one time how you asked about me a few months ago. I don’t suppose we’re still close enough to exchange details of our lives but I remember how you always talked about the risks we take and I suppose I took a few risks here and there – some yielding earthquakes and others collisions: all the same, I am here doing what I set out to do and on some days I suppose I miss you, I miss us – the fulcrum on which I used to think my world once stood – but I miss everything less and less as each day folds into the future.
I hope you are well.