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Letter

Go on, empty your head. There is a song somewhere, rolling around in the back, a nagging tune that I heard you whistling a few notes at random times throughout the day. What is it? What song is that? I'd know it if you weren't so terrible a whistler. Not that I mind, I like that about you. You don't have the self consciouness about that stuff that a lot of other people do. No, you're selfconscious about a host of other things, aren't you? You're worried about what people would do, what they would say if they really saw what you look like under that mask. Maybe that's why your whistling is so bad. You have to admit, it's hard to whistle from behind a mask.

What would happen, do you think, if you just let go, let the whole thing stand or fall without you trying so hard to hold it up? You aren't afraind to be alone, I know that. Except those times when you get lost in yourself. Hahaha, the person who built such incredible mazes in his head to keep people from seeing the truth at the centre, getting lost in his own traps. All the defenses, turned against themselves. You never used to worry so much, you know. About the threats inside yourself. You used to relish the ability to confound people, but now you only confound yourself. So maybe you are afraid to be alone after all. But you wouldn't be. There are some people who love you despite your efforts to drive them off. They know enough of what's going on behind that thick skull of yours that they really wouldn't be shocked by the whole thing. There are those who might leave you, who might shun you. But do you think that really needs to be the reason you parade false faces and charade your way through the day?

Ah, but that's not false either, is it? There are more masks than you let on, probably more than you know. It hurts you, doesn't it? Being a freak to no one but yourself. It isn't logical, and you know it. You have always been a survivor, stronger than most people give you credit for. You are not so hollow as you think you are.

Do you miss the old days at all? Surely you sit and reminisce, at all, about the younger days? You fucked them up too, you know. You get too close to something and turn it upside down. I think you do it on purpose, myself. But I've yet to figure out why. It doesn't matter though. I'm not all that concerned about who's life you touched in some twisted way. What matters is, what now? Are you going to continue to be afraid to let the maze live or die without you? There are other things going on, you know. People outside these walls who want you to lighten up. Or darken up. Squinting through the cracks, lamenting the sunshine outside the wall.... Just turn around. Look behind you right now. It's not like you're in a cell, some caged beast. There is a field of wildflowers right behind you. Beyond that, the forest which hides a spring. You're so busy worrying about the wall, you can't even turn away from it to see the sun or the moon rising over it.

Wake up, Trent. It may not be a dream, but you have to open your eyes. Let your mind go, just for a little while and I promise, if you don't like the monsters inside, I'll put them back.

posted by September @ 9:23 PM