My dear,

As attraction and hesitation paint their stories with the same blood-soaked brush, my mind is a warm, cold, fearless, timid, dauntless wreck;

The peace and calm I feel are pushily urgent, and the weight of wanting makes my veins feel coursed with something unnatural.

It all rests neatly, for now, underneath a limitless excitement for something I had nearly disallowed, with someone I had clearly misread;

I enjoy my mistakes in judgement, on the rare occasion that they prove otherwise in my favor.
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My temperature changes before a complete image of you has even formed in my mind;

It is palpable, even though you are miles away, and merely our hands have touched.

It is relevant, because distance lessens force, and familiarity breeds comfort;

We are distant, and unfamiliar, and yet I feel forceful, and comfortable.

Yours,

I was once told of a signature, “It isn’t real if it isn’t blood”.
I believed it then, and I believe it now.

Quickly and quietly, the trapdoor had closed on me. My attempts to reflect on things I had enjoyed or loved were immediately darkened by vicious pain and uncustomary confusion. They would not relent, and it felt like there was no escape.

In the span of a few short months I moved back to my hometown after a nearly 10-year absence, watched a successful business we had built collapse in on itself, and in the turmoil allowed a lifetime of unmanaged mental health issues get way ahead of me. I pushed away a person that would have loved and cared for me forever, lost the house I misguidedly bought upon my return, and left my brother unemployed during the Christmas season.

For much of that time I was struggling with an injury that left me sleeping sitting up with near-constant pain in my back and legs. The surgery performed to repair it did not do its job, and after the pain and recovery of that process, the original pain had barely changed.

Read On…

To those that care where they are, environment is never an afterthought.