Not Your Usual Love Letter

reading time: less than 5 minutes

Written By: Travis Knight

I want to share this little corner of the Universe with you, to surf these small ripples of time with you, but I fear the worst because my head is turning.

I want to have a family with you. A time ahead where we could settle in a rural home, tucked away in sticks and stones, drenched in those colors and smells that you and I love so much. I want to write full time, watch our kids grow up into amazing adults who, too, will do something extraordinary. I want to see you flourish into the amazing artist that you are, so that you can heal the wounds of society with your unique and beautiful perspective—you know, that one that you capture so well in your photography. I want our little ones to look up to us and learn how to help this mess we call humanity. I want them to be proud of themselves, proud to be alive, proud to be a piece of the solution: LOVE. But I fear the worst because my head is turning.

I want to grow old with you and see the world in every mask it wears. I want your eyes to be the last ones I see. And if, Time forbid, you depart before me, then I want to be there to guide you to the other side. I will remain here, watching after our children and their children until the time comes to reunite with my soul—you—when one day, much later and after our final breaths, we will hold hands in the heart of a far off, infant sun. I have not cried in a long time, but right now I am. It’s confusing because I don’t know what’s snapping and why. I don’t want to admit that I am snapping because of me, so I blame others—ironically, my greatest claim of dangerous human issues—and who better to blame than the one I love most? But then you say something beautiful, and the sun creeps back out from the dense foliage which behind it slept; peaking through with brilliant displays of epiphany, dancing and swaying gold moments on the forest’s feet. I can see all the aforementioned dreams solidify, but then they melt into an unrecognizable puddle. I fear the worst because my head is turning.

I wish for my literature to reach the Mayhem’s out there, the me’s, the you’s—for my pure honesty, raw and untouched journalism of the spirit, to resonate with these characters. To help them think before they drink themselves into a hole, or go out and act like a fool, or reach a point of anger and no return where they take their own lives and the lives of others; where they rob their smile and genius from us, lost in a mere moment that seems eternal, but could have been conquered with just a second of connection. We all meet darkness, and that little demented voice that some call devil seems to be a powerful one. But then I realize something. Evil is a part of all of us, and if the latter is true, then we are all a part of Divinity. Evil is one of Divinity’s children, and like any good parent, Divinity unconditionally loves its children, even the ones who have gone astray. I feel empowered, ready to kick ass, ready to write, ready to fight this internal battle that we all share, ready to start fueling up for our future—for our dream. But then I fear the worst, because my head is turning.

And at the end of the day, we’re all just little specks of rust on a forgotten pinhead, put to rest in a desolate gutter. Sure, this is true, but every little atom has its place in divine reason. Then I think: “Are these thoughts part of that divinity? Am I supposed to take my own life for some reason shielded from my mind’s eye?” Using survival to my advantage, I realize such notions are nonsense; or maybe just misconstrued enigmas. I think of my blessings and I know that with you by my side, and me by yours, we are unstoppable. I know that life CAN be fulfilling, it CAN be good. But then I fear the worst because, again, my head is turning.

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