My dear, I am writing you from the depths of my solitude, to ease your worried heart and mind. Loneliness has been gnawing at my terrified flesh as of late. Yet, my only wish is to remain alone. Unseen and untouched. I think this is pure joy, or the illusion of it. But I am content at this very moment. I promise.

You might think that I am slowly sinking. That I will soon reach the bottom of the ocean, and you fear it is too dark and solitary there. That I might not survive my own madness— not this time, not by myself. That I cannot swim nor do I intend to learn how to. That I willingly gave my body to Poseidon as a peace offering. That I finally made my peace— not with God, but with a god nonetheless. That I am all swallowed up. That I will not see you again. That I will die lamenting your forgotten smile. That Azrael, the angel of death, weeps over my doom. That I have died long ago—
But how can a corpse feel such emotions?
How do I tell my stubborn heart that it is not beating for you any longer?
How do I comfort my frantic soul by lulling it to an eternal sleep?
—And if so then tell me, my dearest one, don’t I deserve serenity, too? After burning for a decade, yearning for a safe haven. Do you think I finally deserve to rest?

Waves of deep pure shimmer in the background.
A muffled roar of anger rumbles in the distance.
The white gardenia in a clear glass bowl
Doesn’t smell as sweet as memory recalls.
All the wight of merely being is a burden.
The cuckoo clock is running slow
And needs to have its chain pulled down.
The shutters on the windows are all closed
And the walls are painted in a cheerless hue.
The tablecloth is cluttered up with  nothings
That demand attention but give no reward.
The painting in the attic slowly ages
While the face seen in the mirror stays the same.
The creaking hinges of existence
Slowly start to close the door
And all the butterflies are left outside.
kjm