To Friends (first letter)


I’m not gone yet but must be halfway out the door (or this universe as I’ve tried to know it). What I’ve never said or done, and all the thoughts and experiences I’ve never been able to share with you (or myself), leave no space for the-me-to-come anymore.  Perhaps they never did and I’m only noticing it now.  Either way, I’m now writing without conviction, without faith, but I am still writing. These not sent letters accumulate. There’s no way to put what I am going through into words (and I’m not making excuses for what you’ve already read here so far). The figures are typed and appear on the monitor, following each other into stillness, perhaps death, a growing pile of ruins in a library of fragments.
I feel as though I am ending.
Please get in touch, but not with pleasantries. Tell me how you really are. Show me what an act of true friendship is. Argue that such things are more than just alms. You will always have my kindest regards into the future (when and if you receive my communications and understand them). Send my love to everyone else in your lives. Surely they have a rough time of it too. I worry there is something wrong with me in particular though. My work and life are intermittently alien, in fact they can seem utterly foreign, and I have to admit to myself (and now to you) in these moments that I’ve never really known where I belong – I still don’t — but I’ll always remember us. I think about each of you often.
All is not darkness then, or light.  I’ll write to you again of course.