My letter to No One

I want to tell you somethings, a few things, a thing or two. What I was thinking about on a cold, foggy morning, the idea I had that came to me while waiting for my coffee to brew. The thoughts I had that were mine, and yours. The way I could pick up a random train of thought and send it careening your way, the weird ones, the silly thoughts, the genius ones. They were all met the same, they were loved.

Now that the turmoil and anguish is over, there remains an empty chair in my livingroom. A place on a table set for two, a dead line on the other side of the phone. And I look around me, and see new faces starting to enter, beautiful, amazing people. People I would never have known existed, ideas and clarity I could have never achieved. The joy and wonder of company, the peace of solitude, the simplicity of expression, all made possible by an empty seat.

And even though I embrace the future and am in awe of the wonder of existence now before me, there comes a time when I look at the seat and wish that it wasn't like that. Brazenly resolute and full of hope and belief like I've never possessed, I falter from time to time. And I look at the seat. Strong and impenetrable, I'm the king of my own castle, indestructible and formidable. But sometimes I still look at the seat.

Sometimes I wish things didn't end the way they did. Sometimes I wish they had never started. Sometimes I think about the future and the endless possibilities, and I look at the past like a cherished memory, and acknowledge that it is all behind me. But sometimes I wish I could pull up a chair next to where the empty one was, lean back and talk to the best friend I ever had. But I know that no good can come of that, the past and the future must be separate. I think mixing the two is the downfall of humanity, the curse of existence.

Wishing for what you had, hoping for what's gone. And letting it affect your future, refusing to let anyone else sit in that treasured space. Time is my greatest enemy, unmovable, fixed and unbreakable, as much as I wish it to be wibbly wobbly timey wimey stuff I could conquer with a wooden box and a charming smile. The past, firmly fixed, unchangeable. It's refusing to accept this that is the cause of most of our grief, we want what is no longer ours, what we can no longer have. Old faces, friends, people from whom time and space no separates us. Ironically, it's a belief that the future is miserably fixed which can contribute to angst of existence.

The future is whatever I want it to be, whichever path I go down. A future with pain and consequence, joy and fun, love, laughter and hangovers. A present where I keep my eyes fixed on the future, but not too far, and not to forget that I'm alive. And finally a future with someone sitting in the chair opposite me, maybe not perfect, maybe not everything I could dream of, but something wonderful. And I don't know what that will be like, but I'm not going to limit myself, because the future is everything brilliant and unexpected.

And I'm looking forward to it.