(Received: 3rd March)
Letter 175
Dear Eric,
Today was a strange day. It’s difficult for me to separate the inside from the outside, what I think from what I know. Sometimes it’s like that. I have dark areas in my mind, injuries and holes where I can't see the bottom, no matter how hard I try. The holes are everywhere and when I think about them, I can’t stop. Some holes are dark wells containing only echoes, while others have dark water in their depths. Inside them I can see a distant full moon, and the silhouette of a person looking back at me. The shape terrifies me. Is it me down there? Is it you? Maybe it's nobody. The view becomes a reflection and…something more, something else. Something I knew and maybe lost, or maybe not. I know this doesn’t make sense, but sometimes the strangest things are important. It’s as if the labels have fallen off, and things have been put back in the wrong places. I write what seems important, and even when I read it back, it means nothing, but I leave it as it is because what do I know anyway? Don’t lose faith in me, Eric.
Where is everything going? I wrote so many things that aren’t here anymore. Things are lost, and that’s life, but…but. Last night, I dreamt there were five red cabinets. Four were full and I locked them up somewhere. Was it a dream, or the last wreckage of a sunken memory? You know what I mean. Inside and out. Object and reflection. Front and back. Positive and negative. I think I am making things more confusing, rather than clarifying them. I'm going to stop writing now.
Regret and hope,
Eric