It's been a while since I had heard anything from him, an unopened letter on her coffee table holds itself responsible for opening the door she had closed so long ago. The last time I saw him must of been that night we drove up north to visit our friend Elias, it was just a few of us kids who used to hang out with each other back in highschool celebrating our new found freedoms and the hardships that tag along. To be fair I never did offer him my full range of compassion and empathy for the life he was living. It was like each day he had was worse than the one before, like his life was a serious down beats while he saw everyone else keep an upbeat mindset and succeed in this life he had only but found failiure.
James never could decide what he wanted to do with himself, always dreaming and scheming but never making the grade, and that showed through even more after attempet after attempt at college. I guess I had never much encouraged him I was too busy trying to sort of which addiction of mine, was my worst affliction, id be soo exhausted trying to pull myself up from the gutter that I didnt think I had enough in me to help the both of us. This letter I guess shouldnt really be a surprise, surprises usually are things you always knew would happen at some point but forgot it over time, and then when they do show up then your left shocked, but in the back of your mind you knew this day would come.
Scared to what was inside this letter I opened it and saw the marks where rain had touched the paper, like he scribbled this down quickly at some park , perhaps a gutter one night.
Dear Becca
It's been a hard couple months out here, I lost the rest of what little I had to start with, both in a materialistic sense as well as an emotional one. I have lost the barrings that helped keep this mind turning and spinning and out running the problems that I tired so hard to put behind me, but the more I put behind me the more things I had chasing me when time eventually would catch up. If things were meant to happen there is no way any of us could stop it from ever happening, its fate, its destiny its a fixed game and no matter how crafty you are you cant cheat death and you cant out play God's design, free will is a luxtury only in the sense we can remove the voice from our minds, but in the end we still play to the script we still follow the lines. drawn out, we just turn off the sound.and walk blindly into this world.
I am writing to you from a hospital within the lowest part of this city, its waiting room is always full of what New York as named their outcasted from their so called Eden, who's free will was predistend to fail from the start,their legs to slippery for the slope. As they climbed up the incline increased and they declined down into what they call hell. Though irony shines through the clouds and you look at their faces and they are the ones who will tell you about the beauty of life, and how they may not have the world they still have a piece of pride and heart that most the world has gone without.
I am lucky for that life out here on the streets is tough, I had gone days without food and finally in a fit of dizzyness I collapsed down on myself in front of the hospital here, I am glad that I choose to be hospital adjasent.