Leaving Brooklyn

today is probably a pretty surreal experience. This is another one of those open letters. I wake up every morning thinking that I’ve received an email from you telling me that everything is impossible. I remember after the last time we talked I got an email saying that all of the things that were talked about were never going to happen.

Don’t send me anything to this effect. Some things are better left unsaid.

I’m sitting in a cafe in Madison next to the zoo and listening to early Bob Marley. Which is strange because I was listening to early Bob Marley in the car on my ride here from Minneapolis. I don’t know what this means, or if this means anything. It could simply mean that I need to listen to more Reggae. We don’t know.

I do know that it is a different world that I live in now, but it is also very much the same. I’m trying to make sense of my life as I’ve made it and as I hope it to be someday. I’ve written a paragraph here a few times but I can’t seem to train my thoughts to follow in sequence. Any sequence. I’ll give you minutes of your life back and just give the goodies away: I’d prefer to live in this unknowing, hopeful, mourning period than experience the redoubtable mess that would follow if anything more final and adverse ever came from this blaze.

I don’t know that I could be held accountable for my behavior.

I don’t know if I can be at this time.

I hope you are well. I’ll be honest. I hope you travel safely. I hope. I’ll always hope.

Yours Always,


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