The Prophet

Oh ancient-lover-of-my-mind, the prophecy you foretold has come true. It is junior year and it is hard. It is not the double suicide that you experienced. More the singular and overstated suicide of regression and temptation. It is junior year and it’s hard. I want my mommy. It sucks.

Remember that day on the mountain? That day in Starbucks? That day in the rain? Epiphanies all of them. They are why I write. I wish there was something more, something without you would be nice actually, as you would be the first to want probably, but there isn’t much more besides the wonderful person in my previous letter-story-confession. There has been a lot of important-I’m-sure events happening. But there has been nothing like our friendship, which someone really could make a wonderfully almost-cliched movie out of. Nothing much has surprised me like your funk that brought me out of my funk and that saved me from that later funk which destroyed my ex-lover-life. Isn’t it incomprehensible the way memories swirl together? Aren’t my words just as incomprehensible…?

I know the truth today. But I also know that I knew a different incompatible truth yesterday. I’m not talking in the abstract here, I’m talking about memories. The facts in my memories have not changed, but something has. Perhaps the highlights have changed or the effects have affected my view of the memories. Perhaps the way I find memories in my mind when I’m thinking, the way I map and catalog past events. I used to be such a romantic, always believing in the ultimate good of people.

I still am. I love it. I think that it is what makes me Brian more than anything else at the moment. I think I might still love my will to always build myself up jovially but I’m not sure I’ve built myself up lately. I hope I might be starting to again.

I’m sorry to be the ho-of-others-minds that I am. I doubt you’re reading this, but if you are, I’m not sure whether I’m happy or sad about that. Happy but embarrassed if you tell me I suppose. Otherwise this is just another unsent letter that you and I both write so much of when we should just write…letters.

Here’s the obligatory-but-still-true ending that I will keep in my mind because you know it anyway,

Brian

Blinky

Stupid, evil, ugly, pointy, stalking, blinky curser. I try to satisfy your thirst to stop blinking but it really doens’t work because I can’t stop typing or you’ll stop blinking and then there will be lions and as a possible side note I think when I force myself to type this fast I get some crazy long sentences that may lack structure and purpose but I nevertheless can’t fix that because ol’ blinky will return and then lions and tigers and the world will explode…

If I do take creative writing next year I could write a story about ‘ol blinky the cursor and how he comes to find peace in the blinky world among his cursor brethern.

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Perhaps I’ll have something better latter, I just felt the need to write, to make meaning out of nothing.