A Part. Apart. Ah Part.

Dear Loved One,

I just got back from walking a darling dog.  She kept on telling me, “She’s gone.”  “She’s gone!”  She usually doesn't act like this, she is usually fine with all of this (looks around a dark corner of the city where a tower looks down on everything).  The usual countdown alarm for her allowance to investigate: OOOOOOOOOOne, TWWWOOOOOOO, THRRREEEEEEEE, FFFOOUUUURRRRRRRR, FFFFFFIIIIIVVVEE, (we don't usually get to this number, this doesn't sound right.) SSSSSSIIIIXXXX (no, definitely not this far), SEEEEEEEEEEAAAAVVVEEEEEEENNNN, (this is really strange, really strange) NNNIIIIIINNNNEEE, (no, wait.), [stop]...didn't work, she needed ten, then eleven, and when I stopped counting with my mouth the silence counted for us.  (whispers as loud as a thought) twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen.  There.  The shit.  

There.

The shit.

Washing the dishes.  These dishes K. and I made.  K. and I.  I realized right then and there - that - we (you and I) - moved - apart.  That K. wasn't F. and that F. wasn't K.  It was the spirit of the companion.  F. help me find that spirit, but the spirit existed before F..

I wanted to forget you once.  Because I was losing too much sleep.  That each person after you didn't remind me of you, they just reminded me that they weren't you.  What delusion.  

I realized one of my biggest fears is having people realize my disabilities.  And then for them to either act nice towards it as to entertain it.  Somewhere down the line, many years ago, I must've shut the flow to that thought and that notion.  That look on my teacher's face, she knows what kids she's taking care of, she's giving us extra care, she is loving, but she knows something we do not, and perhaps will never really know.  And over the years we forget about this membrane that is smoggy, that we are looking through but barely, that we are able to observe with squinting eyes a world that very much resembles what it is but not quite.

I didn't choose art, its terms choose me.  That because I can't step over that line, through the membrane.  I learned to read and I learned to write.  When I was child I used to end all my first written complete sentences with "...".  Teachers would laugh.  I did something good.  They laughed.  I haven't stopped.  Laughter is my award.  That's what says I am approved.  All I want is a laugh.  Art allowed my rearrangement of the world to be approved.  Artists could be jesters.  That they could freely criticize the king and royalty, the poor, and the self.  They were all equal, there for a laugh.  So there was the rearrangement and there was the approval.  Do well at this because those are the two things you have to get done today.  

...

We work well with together because we're both in this.  I don't run into those moments often.  That perhaps it is the only moment I don't feel alone.  When I am with you.  Because we're both in this.

I could see it in K.'s eyes.  That she's in it, too.  In different ways than you and I.  She thinks abstract, because she is abstract.  I don't want to say I'm there for her because I understand what she is going through.  I want to say I'm there for K. because I wish someone would do the same for me.  I don't expect.  I learned to not expect anything.  Without the bitter taste, that nihilist gaze to a future without hope.  No, darling, I'm far from that.

...

We had our arguments.  There were times I thought I was wronged and I didn't say anything.  I know when an argument will go nowhere, that words come off as attacks.  I hate that.  I just want to share my point of view, as neutral as possible.  We had our arguments, I held things back, and we would have our arguments.  But in all that aggression, all those times I felt I wronged or I did wrong, or I felt like I asked you for too much, I knew we were stuck with each other.  That made any argument feel like a bump in the road, we still keep going, always.  Into infinity.

K., forgive me.  

F., forgive me.

Please.

Sincerely,

C.