An Unadorned Envelope

Dear Mélissa:

It's warm here. I think spring is on the way. While I was out walking the dog today, I thought about taking a picture to show you. All the grass and wild plants are bare now, they're practically seas of beige and brown, all rippling in the wind.

I understand there's a lot of snow in the East right now. It's going to be an inverse from my last trip. When I left last, this city was cold and dead, yet not quite tucked under winter's white blanket. Yours instead was just colouring up for the season, as if autumn was fashionably late. Late to bed, early to rise. So it goes.

I know things are probably pretty tense right now for you. It's kind of a strange time. But in the big picture, this is a blink of an eye. All these bad things, they'll pass, if we let them. I know it sounds strange coming from me. You imagine me a pessimist, but perhaps I'm a determined one. Or maybe I'm not one at all. That all depends where you're coming from. I've never been one for fancy imaginings of reality, but in the same breath, nothing is ever as hopeless as it seems.

I won't lie. I've seen a lot of wretched things. I've seen friends and lovers stab each other in the back. I don't know why. I don't know if I even really care why. We don't go anywhere by making excuses, and I've got none for them. I've witnessed, and I'm careful. So are you, although where I hide and lie quiet, you step forward with boldness and assertion. Subtlety and boldness. Opposite extremes.

Each of us has a power in our own right. Each of use has equal and opposite talents. As I sit here writing this, you probably have in your mind's eye your next painting, reality bending into colours on canvas, and yet its even better than reality, for our time is fleeting, but your art is not. It's a universal portrayal. My writing pales in comparison. Whereas yours can reach to even the most basic understanding, my art requires years of exposure to our language and culture, such as it is, to be understood. Is it art, when you have to be groomed to understand it? I prefer to think that answer is in the eye of the beholder. I write because I can, and because I must. There are those who say this is not art. Maybe they're right. I don't really care.

And you see, this is the root of whatever apathy you imagine in me. As life goes on, you learn to prune what doesn't matter, and focus only on what does. I think you know this. I think a lot of people know this. But even wise people get stuck in pits of circular thought every now and again. I know I do. Maybe one day you'll see it, and you'll be afraid. You might freak out. I don't blame you. I try real hard to keep this from people. That's just how I am.

But anyway. It won't be long now. We'll be sitting down and enjoying some sushi, and maybe a bit of tea. Hopefully, for once, it won't be fucking cold out when we go. Hopefully, things will work out sooner rather than later. I think those involved have had enough misery for now, and I wish I could help. But maybe it's best left out of my hands.

Faith. Faith in people. That's what I lack. But since I met you, it's been a tiny trickle. An exemption at first, and now it's a slowly trickling stream. Maybe one day, it'll feed into all of humanity, and purify what's been a poisoned well. It's a grace I'm not sure I'm worthy of. I'm not religious by any means, but there are times when the universe closes in and it just seems like I can feel it from end to end, and everything is really quite nice.

Anyway. I'm sure you're probably tired after reading all this. I will see you again soon.
Love,

-G