We move across the sky to the horizon, where the sun is rising, where the future is being

made as light spills across the land.

We see the ship sail towards it, and we see what is left in its wake.

A letter, hand by someone who took a very long time to think about writing it that feels

important enough for everyone to know about you.

To the end, he never read a goddamn thing.

To my fleeing rabbit.

My wayward bird.

My wandering coyote.

My mended serpent.

And whatever strange thing the seasons have made of my will.

Pain is a thing all who love are destined for.

As a lily, I have loved countless souls, and bound my strings to their fingers.

It is easy to love when you are allowed to know someone.

People are beautiful, and I draw deep satisfaction for making a life and holding them close.

I have lost many to the river.

I still feel the haunting sting of their absence, and it has never made me regret the bond.

To shy from the light for fear of shadows is a cowardice that I do not possess, nor do

I believe that you possess.

As Travis Madagoe, you confessed to me that you believed several lifetimes of loss had

hardened your heart until you were no longer able to feel love or pain.

Your condition is unique, but it is my professional opinion that this belief is a wishful fantasy.

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