To a friend in a far off place.

If I found you again, there are so many things I like to tell you, but somehow I think you don’t want anyone to find you. Like how today all the names I’ve forgotten didn’t bother me, but those few names I remember are old wounds that I feel today because it’s cold, and one name in particular left a scar that hurts whenever someone accidentally bumps into it. I’ve been feeling alone lately. No one seems to know me anymore, maybe I don’t know them, or maybe I just don’t know. Even my muse is quiet, and I’ve been living in silence for weeks. For months I’ve been losing the war against myself even though I’ve tried every trick I know to win out. I stopped drinking so much, I started eating healthier, I started getting more sleep, and I started working out again. But still there are days I can’t look myself in the mirror, even though I look better than I have in awhile. Some people say I’m depressed, and that I should take some things for that, but they don’t know that I’ve been this way for as long as I can remember, except for flashes of childhood. So why would I want to change who I am just so that people could see me smile? I hate my smile anyway. I don’t think I have the kind of face that wears a smile well, and even though I’m not in the best of moods, I think that it’s right for today to be dark and cold because if it were warm and sunny, I don’t think I could have gone outside.
I feel like I should write today, but I can’t hear my muse. I’m thinking of going away, and not telling anyone. Maybe then I could find some peace, sleep through the night, and start to hear my muse again. I remember you telling me about a farm. I wonder if you’re still doing that and where. It’s funny in a sad way to think of how you among all of my friends, were able to understand me best, though we were always going in opposite directions. It’s starting to snow, though it’s almost April, which reminds me of being a child struggling to build a snowman when there really wasn’t enough snow. Back then I wasn’t happy, but I didn’t know sadness yet. I just was, too deep I guess. Something got in, and I could never get it out. I put this letter out there knowing you won’t find it, but if you did, you’d understand.