It’s not always chariots and wild horses.
Some times it’s muted speech. A text message while sitting across the same table. A simple gesture. The edges of a mouth curling.
A conversation about the flaws of The Phantom Menace while watching the movie.
I started thinking about suicide last week. Not my suicide, of course. But Mitchell Heisman’s suicide. Namely his 1,900 page suicide note.
I heard about Heisman years ago. I downloaded his book, but never read it. Even now, I’m hesitant to read it.
It did get me thinking again. Years ago, after the split, I started toying with the idea of writing a resignation letter. Not resigning from a job, but from relationships. From socializing. From romantic aspirations.
The “letter” never amounted to anything other than a few lines on the page. Something entitled “To Whom It May Concern.”
It’s something I’d like to revisit, minus the subject matter.
“Soooo obvious! Lol. It’s cute.”
“Shut your face.”
“There’s no hiding it! Why try???”
“I’m sure there’s logic behind it.”
“I see those little eyes. And smiles. But I know.”
In another conversation, with another person, I’m asked, “Are you still interested?” And I shrug. Because as sure as I am about how I feel about her, there’s this doubt that feeding through.
It’s the Voice reminding me of my failures. Helping me recall my worthlessness. Creeping up in the darkness to spoil and rot the most beautiful things at the core.
Thing is here.
What surprises me the most.
Is that I haven’t written this much in years.
Chapin City Blues 