I sit here at this executive desk, wondering where you are. I know I shouldn't, and I know I do not have the right to care, but I miss you terribly and with everyone asleep and no creatures stirring my thoughts are grave and grim. The heart speaks the loudest and most forcefully for me in the long moments of quiet that I now own. With the volume of living twisted down the mind and all its spiraling skein of thoughts and images springs to view and there seems to be no escape from it for me. Perhaps shamanistic ritual or vipassana trances would wield enough power to disembowel this vortex of despair, but I don't have the will to try it at this cold hour.
I realized far too late that I have the ability to convey my thoughts and feelings with more talent by the written word than by mouth, and so begins this odyssey of expression for you to read or ignore or enjoy or destroy. I feel I must do this whatever you may do. Even if these essays remain unread through our slim time remaining together, there can only be positive ramifications if by doing so there are unseen new avenues of communication created and hopefully regenerative understanding and perhaps even divine forgiveness. If one or all of these happens in the next six months then I think I can pass through the crucible and look forward to the second half of my life. I can envision giving you with all the joy in my heart a gift of hope for your own life, the hope that love is and always will be object desire of humanity and the causal force behind the human condition.
