Thursday, August 01, 2013


Four hundred and thirty-nine posts now in this long letter. I can feel life changing around me, and within me, and it is a curious feeling, not unlike the sensation one gets when they're coming down with the flu.

Last night I dashed off a quick haiku to the curious misfit:
Muse of my seasons,
I will not fade quietly
into summer's night.
I will not fade, even in the moments when I want to. I've learned to live and survive, a process with a learning curve that has been steeper than expected. There are still moments when I want to curl up into a ball in the corner of my bedroom and die. There are many more moments where I am silent. But then comes work where I play rondavis, a character who sits at a desk on a riser and wears a mask that looks a lot like me. Despite my dislike for him, that bastard has sustained me and forced me to live through All This, so I guess I should thank him. He has enough steel in his spine to get me up off the floor and into upright position.

I will not fade because that's not the way I want to live out my days. I am older and stronger than I was when I started this blog in earnest, and I refuse to let the circumstances of life wither me. Inside, of course, I still quake and shiver, and when I'm alone I still let myself fall apart for 10 minutes. But that's all on the inside, and even my closest friends don't get to see it.

I will not fade because I realize I will never be the same, and the experiences that have changed my life and heart have also made me a harder person. I've always been able to land on my feet, but now I'm a survivor, clean and able to accept the Kafkaesque moments of the past few years. I know those moments will never die, but I can accept the memories because they are infused with such sweetness that any lingering sour sorrow seems silly.

I will not fade quietly into summer's night, even as autumn closes in and I wade through the beautiful colors of dreamland. This world still holds many things for me to do, and that world — well, it's all mine, unsullied by anything that has happened, so lovely and pristine and sacred that I won't ever give it up. While rondavis points fingers and plays the arch badass in daylight, Ron wanders through Dreamland and smiles, and is happy that he's still alive.

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