OPEN LETTERS
Fragmental Closed Letters to Fragments of Self
Four short letters to four parts of me
Dear Love,
Have I told you that you’re the rose in my hands? So beautiful, so painful, so irresistible. You waited 25 years to show me how you operate — possibly — on one’s heart, only to teach me that you’re not all petals. You’re also thorns.
You nearly broke me, but do keep coming. There’s no life without you. I don’t need you for another person, necessarily, but something. I’d rather be awed and hurt than be pristine and dull.
So do keep coming, petals and thorns and whatever else you’re hiding from me. I welcome you wholesomely.
Yours,
Hopeless Idealistic Romantic
Dear Heart,
I thought you were strong, yet you broke so briskly at the lightest touch of a thorny rose. I guess you are made of glass after all. I had thought you were steel.
But then, again, what good is a steel heart? Sure, you would be nearly invincible and never know of pain. At what cost, though? That light may never come in? Seems like a steep price.
So let’s keep you made of glass. But let’s work on making it bullet-proof by breaking you down again and again, by reforging you again and again, by strengthening via good old-fashioned craftsmanship, apprenticeship, mastery.
Your most earnest advocate,
Ruthless Warrior
Dear Hatred and Your Kins (that is, Bitterness, Resentment, Envy),
You’re idle, whiny, and useless. Leave me alone, or approach at your own peril. I have bullet-proof defence, through which I can see you clear as daylight in the bright, warm sun. I have a sword that often breaks easy, although it smells nice and enticing, and it’ll cut you to pieces.
Go away.
Your sincerest protester,
Floral Knight on the White Horse
Dear Self,
You’ve been through some shit. Things we wish you hadn’t. But you did, and we both know that’s a good thing.
You’ve been through the glass-breaking rose bushes, and now you’ve got your heart bullet-proof but glassy still. Now you can see the anti-roses clear as day, even at the deep of night.
You’ve always had some dark shades in that glassy heart of yours — hatred, bitterness, resentment, envy, and who knows what else. Murderous urges when your neighbour is having a house party on a day at work that felt like a year? I wouldn’t blame you if you had. In fact, I’ll help you cover the crime.
But you love roses, you love the clarity behind glass, and you can’t help the shades from appearing time after time. That’s fine. You have a lot of rooms in you, and which building in the world doesn’t have a couple of neighbours who might as well be sworn enemies on the battlefield?
Let them fight, and don’t replace the glass with steel. That’s how you live. It’s better to have your love fight your hatred than to have your hatred fight someone else’s love.
Hold the opposing fragments, my fragmented self. And I do love you.
Yours,
Bill
