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Letter to Celisen; 27 December 2021

Oh, C;

I enter the elevator, press my card against the sensor and pause. My brain always decides to freeze at this point, and it takes me precious seconds before I remember where I am going - up or down. Seems like today is a day of going down, as I am particularly morose today, and yet cheerfully casual about it. If this isn't growth, what is it?

I am also full of questions today, some of which I will bombard you with - once again calling on you as a storage for my venting machine. As my breath mists off into this cold night, I am full of noise and surrounded by the fullness of you. It now promises to be a decent night, if I do say so myself.

This is a return to my old ways, and in a way, merging the modern communication line with the old fashioned letter, a return to the olden days as well. I do not know if it is healthy or not, at this point I am too in thought to care. Health at this hour of the night is always an aftermath, if not an afterthought.

What happens when, C, when you think you've made no mistake but still lose? What happens when everything seems right, yet it all goes upside down, and there's no lessons to take away from? What happens when you love with diligence and it just becomes forced?

I am freshly heartbroken again, and at this point my heart is not shattered - it is now in fine shards, each capable of it's own powers. At this point the heartbreak is familiar, and the pain a kink, and the emotes a defense mechanism. I now have multiple hearts to live with, each with it's own whims and own attractions. I feel like I am holding on to the leashes of a hundred direly hungry wolves who see a new prey in a new direction every second. I'm struggling to hold my place, and to maintain my stability.

What is better - to love and not get it, or to have never loved at all and being unaware of all its shenanigans? Is the rollercoaster worth it when the essence of it ends after the steepest fall? Or it is better to be a spectator and see people losing their sanity as they go up and down? Is it better to feel everything and live, or to die having felt nothing?

It may seem like a simple answer in the first thought, but when you mix in the varied quantities of experiences you will understand that the obvious answer isn't very enticing. Feeling everything while living is torture, and at least when you die having felt nothing you die simply and smoothly. At the end, however, the end result is the same - you end up alone and sombre. Living alone having felt everything makes one oddly sagacious and insufferable, methinks, and living alone without having felt anything makes one at least well understood.

Deep down, I think, I want you to decimate the outcome I've arrived to above. I expect it, and probably even need it. Let's face it - we both are alone right now, and I am feeling things you don't care about and you must be feeling things I cannot understand - so let's communicate via absolutes once again.

I seek your reply in the most solemn moments of the night, and may you have the courage to pen up a response that settles my questions.

Battered, beaten and beloved;




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