Dear Manhattan
Dear Manhattan,
A thousand tiny lights flickered in the distance; stars painted across a distant galaxy. Pushing away any feelings of indecision, I gunned the engine and stared at the road until all reflected light in the mirror faded into darkness. To my relief, some of the memories floating around in my head did the same. Others were drowned out by the rushing air and whatever heavy metal band screamed on the radio.
I apologize for the abruptness of my departure, but it had to be this way. I woke up in the middle of the night to stand at the window frozen like a gargoyle, wishing to take flight but grounded to earth by my very being. It wasn't the first time. If I had waited until sunrise you'd have found a way to lure me back, many times before you had. So I vowed never to see fluorescent-lit white linoleum again, packed a suitcase, and left; leaving behind only a scattering of cracked stone. Stone that will undoubtedly have been swept neatly away by the time you read this.
If all I wind up as in this world is a collection of poorly written letters, I'll be happy. Even if all my finances, work experience, and perhaps sanity are forfeited. This at least, feels real. Perhaps it is the only real thing I have ever done.
The sun is coming up as I write this, and faintly visible on the horizon is your ghostly silhouette. I've been laying on the hood of my car for the last hour just experiencing the silence, possibly for the first time in my life.
-Paul
A thousand tiny lights flickered in the distance; stars painted across a distant galaxy. Pushing away any feelings of indecision, I gunned the engine and stared at the road until all reflected light in the mirror faded into darkness. To my relief, some of the memories floating around in my head did the same. Others were drowned out by the rushing air and whatever heavy metal band screamed on the radio.
I apologize for the abruptness of my departure, but it had to be this way. I woke up in the middle of the night to stand at the window frozen like a gargoyle, wishing to take flight but grounded to earth by my very being. It wasn't the first time. If I had waited until sunrise you'd have found a way to lure me back, many times before you had. So I vowed never to see fluorescent-lit white linoleum again, packed a suitcase, and left; leaving behind only a scattering of cracked stone. Stone that will undoubtedly have been swept neatly away by the time you read this.
If all I wind up as in this world is a collection of poorly written letters, I'll be happy. Even if all my finances, work experience, and perhaps sanity are forfeited. This at least, feels real. Perhaps it is the only real thing I have ever done.
The sun is coming up as I write this, and faintly visible on the horizon is your ghostly silhouette. I've been laying on the hood of my car for the last hour just experiencing the silence, possibly for the first time in my life.
-Paul