Dear Kurt,
I'm in the process of heading to the bookstore... and with a reluctant hand... I will pull your journal entries from the shelf. I will not purchase it... no. Not in a million years will I contribute to the financial greed that designed this current reality. Me writing you post-mortem versus YOU. Alive and well.
But there is no point in dwelling on that at the moment. But yes. I want to grasp for one moment what your heart may have been... and then I am going to try with all my might to orchestrate those feelings into sequences in my screenplay.
I feel really shitty and I'm hoping that a glimpse into your soul will get me through another day.
(Four Hours Later)
Okay. I lied. And I ended up paying money that I don't have for your journals. Not only because I have the utter desire to be alone with your words... but also because I have the desire to be utterly alone. Just go to my room.... and close the world out. I have been good at that most of my life. Fiercely private. I'm sure you can relate.
Sometimes I feel as though a slight, meaningful glance from a perfect stranger, would cause me to collapse right there. It takes most of my strength to hold myself up all day.
So when I approached the counter to make my purchase, the cashier beckoning me toward him was a mirror image of you. Our eyes met... and I did not want to take that step closer to him. I glanced about, wishing another would assist me. But no....
I approached him with hesitation, and without looking him in the eye, I lay the book on the counter. Avoiding glancing to it as well. I felt so weak... as if advocating the selling of your soul, that I wanted to disappear. He turned the book over, quietly ringing in the purchase. Neither of us fained a smile.. and as he placed it in the bag, we shared a look.
I felt as if I was going to break like glass. And I made my way from the store.
I've began to read your most private thoughts... and at first glance... you are extremely intelligent, full of witty sarcasm and unbelievably talented with your comic strips. I liked your life.
Peace.... Love.... Empathy,
Justice Seeker.
p.s. I'm forty pages deep in proving your innocence.
I'm in the process of heading to the bookstore... and with a reluctant hand... I will pull your journal entries from the shelf. I will not purchase it... no. Not in a million years will I contribute to the financial greed that designed this current reality. Me writing you post-mortem versus YOU. Alive and well.
But there is no point in dwelling on that at the moment. But yes. I want to grasp for one moment what your heart may have been... and then I am going to try with all my might to orchestrate those feelings into sequences in my screenplay.
I feel really shitty and I'm hoping that a glimpse into your soul will get me through another day.
(Four Hours Later)
Okay. I lied. And I ended up paying money that I don't have for your journals. Not only because I have the utter desire to be alone with your words... but also because I have the desire to be utterly alone. Just go to my room.... and close the world out. I have been good at that most of my life. Fiercely private. I'm sure you can relate.
Sometimes I feel as though a slight, meaningful glance from a perfect stranger, would cause me to collapse right there. It takes most of my strength to hold myself up all day.
So when I approached the counter to make my purchase, the cashier beckoning me toward him was a mirror image of you. Our eyes met... and I did not want to take that step closer to him. I glanced about, wishing another would assist me. But no....
I approached him with hesitation, and without looking him in the eye, I lay the book on the counter. Avoiding glancing to it as well. I felt so weak... as if advocating the selling of your soul, that I wanted to disappear. He turned the book over, quietly ringing in the purchase. Neither of us fained a smile.. and as he placed it in the bag, we shared a look.
I felt as if I was going to break like glass. And I made my way from the store.
I've began to read your most private thoughts... and at first glance... you are extremely intelligent, full of witty sarcasm and unbelievably talented with your comic strips. I liked your life.
Peace.... Love.... Empathy,
Justice Seeker.
p.s. I'm forty pages deep in proving your innocence.
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