Something I Wrote for a Friend...

My Prophecy:

You are going to leave. I will proceed through life, get married, have children.

One day, I will open the mailbox and find a tattered letter. It will smell like salt and sweat, which will be an oddly refreshing contrast to the honeysuckles in my front yard. There will be no return address. And it won’t be signed. I will know it’s from you. I will receive these letters like clockwork, well in the sense that I will expect them at certain times. But instead, as if I forgot why the dates were important, I will receive them on days that have no holiday. On days in which I yell too loud at my kids, or almost quit my job. Of course they weren’t sent with any foresight, but I will pretend as if they were. I will cry every time I read them, not out of regret, or sadness, but out of a sheer longing to just talk to you. Your letters will just be a collection of words wrought from your memory of when we were closer. I will never try and track you down.

It turns out you are some sad, disgustingly romantic, utterly sick fuck who lives in a lighthouse with the only thing that got better with age. Your memory. So, I haunt you daily.