It's Not Just a Game Anymore

Dear Rosebud:

The ground has gone fallow and golden, and it’s time to move on.

The caterwauling in my chest cavity hasn’t dimmed any; in fact, it’s grown to a banshee’s wail that doesn’t allow me to sleep at night.  Why only last night, the scent of the candle burning, the angelic whispers constructed into song caught in the smoke about my bed, I was accosted.  Waking life, but not.  I seemed to open my eyes, and feel, and be present, but then not.  Paralyzed.  They sensed my slightly ill head, and the inviting murky music around me, and they didn’t miss a beat.  Granted, I think I encouraged whatever it was to act, since I silently mouthed from my brain cavity “pull the blanket down all the way” and there invisibly went the quilt, the blanket, the sheet…..down to the end of the bed.  And on and off (if you will), I felt everything through the incensed carcass of the phantom liaison that it was.  Sometimes I tried to move away or move at all, but I couldn’t.  They had me.  It ended up going on for hours (it felt like), but when I awoke from it or came to, or whatever the term is, I knew that I was royally fucked.  As it were.  And then I realized in my twilight mist, that I was attracting boundless energy from all ends of the spectrum.  I needed to learn to utilize this.  Own it as my own.  Create it every single day without remorse or the feeling of what was moral, or right.  There was no more looking for the chosen one.  I was the chosen one.  And there wasn’t a speck of ego in that statement or feeling. 

It is only those who lose everything that realize they have had nothing all along.  I learned that I could also impart myself into other’s bedrooms and do the same.  Sidling in, becoming apparent, coming alive with every second of the night wherein the clock does not tick forward.  The clock ticks as I tell it to.  And this prologue has been a grand exercise in my soft claw marks, my letting go, my jamming stakes in the earth only to find it does not belong to me.

You can’t say I haven’t given you the grandest of attentions, Rosebud.  You can’t say that at all.  Even when your creator needed to chase after other words, other inlets, other punishments and rewards, I was here.  I hope you will remember that of me.  Even though I didn’t create you, I certainly helped you keep running as you did, at whatever pace was possible for us.

Nothing is forever, everything exists as long as it lives in the pit of our hearts.  And mine will never burn out, partially thanks to you.  You held up with the best of them, the nameless ones who didn’t belong here, the eyes who watched but didn’t see, the occasional stranger one hoped to impress with the turn of a phrase.  You are an absolute champ.  Sorry we left bruises on you sometimes.  Sorry I got all caught up, and talked about myself so much as I did.  But you made a good sounding board and allowed the trajectory to follow zigzagged through the fracture of stars, as we did.

Don’t know if anyone’s coming back here.  But people love revisiting abandoned houses of old, don’t they? Something about the weeds growing up through the floorboards, the sun catching the spider in its web through air and not glass.  The world moves into us, and keeps its moving whether we want it to or not.  That’s comforting, and also terrifying. 

Thanks for always being there.  Who knows, perhaps you’ll have a visitor again someday...

With love and loyalty,

M. Lucia

P.S.  The final and most important lesson of All: