A Letter to a Friend

My Dearest J,

Though it has been but mere days I feel as though a lifetime as passed since I put pen to paper to speak to you.  What can I tell you now?  I feel empty.  My soul is hollow.  Don’t worry, it isn’t the void of depression or pain that presses on my heart – although it can be said that that is exactly what ails me.  I suppose I should explain, and yet I haven’t found the words that will eloquently, or adequately, explain why my body feels as if my very essence has been so thoroughly excavated from its shell.  Perhaps I should share one of my favorite quotes by Sylvia Plath to help aid me:

I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want.  I can never train myself in all the skill I want. And why do I want? I want to live and feel all the shades, tones, and variations of mental and physical experience possible in life.  And I am horribly limited.

And doesn’t that just sum it all up?  The limited affliction of humans. I have been reading, my friend, so many words. So many pages.  The hours, minutes, seconds passing me by without an afterthought.  The hunger for more, burning my soul like the Angelic fire of Michael’s sword consuming the very essence of who I am. But I don’t care.  The fire has sustained me in every moment, pushing away any cravings or needs my fragile human body might have – sleep, nutrients, companionship – leaving the burning desire for more words coursing through my veins like the deadliest of drugs.

It started two weeks – no, to call it a fortnight is more appropriate.  It started a fortnight ago and in the time since the beginning until now, the end, I have devoured forty-two books.  But now, the stories are over and I am feeling that empty achiness that I spoke of before.  My heart feels like a painful echo behind my sternum.  Whatever shall I do?  What stories could possibly begin to help ease my loneliness?  Perhaps one day I shall venture from my home and start filling pages with my own stories – tell of the love and pain in my heart.  Perhaps.  However, until the time comes that I should have the strength to brave the world outside of literature alone I will continue to fill my time with the stories of others and mark time passing with the turning of the page.

As always, you remain ever in my thoughts.

C