to my ghost:
i've had a long and tiring day, and find myself craving sleep, yet i thought that i would sign on and write to you.
there is nothing stronger than the power of belief, and so i attempt to convince myself everyday to believe only happy thoughts. if it is true that people see only what they want to see, i truly am a masochist.
i have been reading very good books lately. mostly political, feminist essays, or dissertations on life from various people, with the occasional sci-fi (another fetish of mine) thrown in. my angel has a picture of herself with asimov which i am envious of.
school starts for me in five days. i am dreading it, and i don't know why. no, i do, but i will not confess it even to myself. every year i say "this is a new year, i will sing new songs, i will see new faces, i will write new confessions" and every year i reflect on how little the world has changed around me and how much i have changed within it. if everyone has such drastic life-shattering events, why doesn't the world as a whole? i feel that the earth is entirely too stable, and i will have absolutely no effect on the outcome of millennia.
i am sleepy, letting my hair down and loosening my clothes. is this the life of a writer? the life of a starving artist attempting to create something, anything? music comes so easy, i play too many instruments to keep up with them all, while my poetry suffers and i find it difficult to write in any structured form. here i am, rambling on about such broad spectre as millennia and art (equally trifling and finitely infinite).
i think that i shall post this letter after i send it to you, just for a change at the website. but before i do, my closing sentiments are as follows:
you cannot expect someone to see you for who you are if you cannot look in the mirror and see it reflected in your own eyes. for others to notice your sorrow, you must recognize it in your own heart and hear it in your own voice. i am starting a "book of beautiful things," which will be written much like a journal. i will start it with a letter you sent to me long ago.
your
fallen
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