Part of me tried to just let this week slide by… and yet I couldn’t. Ultimately, whatever is broken is not broken enough to allow me to just silently embrace what it means to not show up.
"We are cups, constantly and quietly being filled. The trick is, knowing how to tip ourselves over and let the beautiful stuff out."
—Ray Bradbury
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Dear LMNOP,
It seems, again, that it has been a long time. I never thought the stream of understanding between us would dry up and eventually just fade away, cracked earth where water once flowed, and yet that seems to be exactly what has happened.
Was it me? So many examples line up in a row through time suggesting it must be me, and yet I never understand.
Even though the letters remain piled in a drawer, unsent, the writing was always to someone. There was a deeper awareness of connection, a conduit that has drifted beyond reach.
Tonight, I am sitting awkwardly with the first serious crack, the first week where not pushing the button in the system that counts down each week with both frightening speed and mind-numbing slowness seems to be the only option.
I’ve watched the crack widen over the last few days, surprised, vaguely alarmed, and yet unable to move.
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This was Week 4 in my hybrid writing adventure in Millcreek. I’m indulging in a world that doesn’t have to make sense. Thank you to those who are reading this story.
2025: I Unlocked a Ghost This Week (❤️)
2025: I Am Always Writing a Letter 04: Careful Where You Sit
2024: A Teddy Bear Project (the failure to do this shows me the depth of stasis)
2023: Fun with Fortune Tellers
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