Last night, I finished a letter that I don’t intend to send.
It’s not a sending sort of letter.
It’s the sort of letter that shows that I can articulate my side of the problem. I can get from start to finish coherently. I can keep on track and not get waylaid by additional details. (GO ME!)
It’s a letter that’s more a crib sheet, I suppose, in case of discussion.
My mood now it’s written is unchained.
People have said to me, “why so hung up? Let it go!”
It’s because I’ve been trying to write this letter.
“What! Why? It’s been months! Effort works both ways, you know.”
It’s because I couldn’t articulate myself.
I would say what I needed to say and not be believed.
“Does it really matter if they believe you?”
The belief I really needed was mine.
Now that it’s all written down, I can see my thoughts aren’t bullshit. They’re pretty reasonable, in fact. Balanced. Honest. A bit new-age hippy in parts — feeling and loving each other as is. It has the air of grace that I’m told I’m lacking. It’s mostly well written. It’s got in it a few turns of phrase that could, if not should, spawn a poem.
Best of all, it confirms what I always suspected: My view holds merit.
With it in these beautiful sentences that go from start to finish, it’s no skin if they’re heard.
It would be better if they were, of course, but if they’re not, I’ve got a letter here to prove I gave it my best shot.