My Dearest Kimberly

I write you this collection of words and punctuation points in the hour during which I am usually preparing myself to sleep. If it takes me all night, I will give you the innermost secrets of my being, if not only because of the feelings I have towards you. I will write this once, without thinking about whether or not I want certain information disclosed to you, and I will give it to you with no such thought, as well. Many people think that I have some pain inside of me. I will now correct that. I have a fire that scorches through my very veins, and every breath that I take into my lungs causes it to burn its way slowly and painfully through my heart, only to come around again following the next time I inhale. Every beating of my heart tells me that I still bear the monstrosities in my head. Many of these beasts are aroused at even the simplest connection, such as that of a broken promise. Understand everyone hurts me, but only through the recollection of past sufferings. You have told me that you love me. I believe that you mean it. However, I know factually that you have no idea what weight you place upon your shoulders in such a claim. I can already see that I am more of a burden that you don't want to let go of, much like the lush and his bottle of cheap wine. I am very addicting, but unlike alcohol and tobacco I cause harm to ones soul. Everyone who gets close to me is hurt, even though I always want nothing more than to make all the pain in their lives fade away into me. Nothing this life throws at me can cause harm, for the palms of my spirit are calloused and dry with bloody scars to show that mine self is not that of peace and beauty.

You once said that I don't see how perfect my soul really is. Verily, you were seeing only the backs of my hands, which appear clean and unscathed, since I have tackled everything in this cruel and unjust world before it could sneak up behind me and deal a rather finalizing blow. I have only dropped my guard once, in a moment during which I thought everything was headed in the right direction. The aftermath of this destructive force was I lying on my bed one night, the knife in my fist, knowing that I was well capable of enduring the pain. My thoughts then travelled to how those who cared would react, and when my mind's eye settled upon my mother, I immediately placed aside the instrument of self-mutilation. I want you to think long and hard of the sacrifice you are making in keeping me near you. I love being near you, but can you endure the pain if it happens to come? Perhaps by now you understand what I mean by the "innermost secrets of my being." In my shroud of darkness, there used to be only one place where light weakly shined through. That tiny pinpoint is still there, but alongside it there is now another. You tear through that shroud every time you lay hands upon me. You are a light in the darkness, and for this burden I am eternally grateful as well as forever sorry. With all the love of my slowly changing heart,

Michael