Dear God, Buddha, heavenly type thing.
While I have my doubts of your existence, And wouldn't be surprised if this little letter was RETURNED TO SENDER. But I figure it's about time that, on the off-hand chance you exist, that I have a say on a few things.
You and I have been in a standoff for years. Your refusal to give a man who craves steady balance anything but, has led to my refusal to play by the rules written in any book that bears your logo. Nothing dangerous of course, nobody's gotten hurt. But I still treat the brunt of the literature as pure gibberish (save the Kama Sutra. That fine piece of writing has some uses.)
If you are in fact running the show, you can certainly browse the records and see I've been through some wild times. If my autobiography was ever a profitable thing, I doubt anyone would believe it. And I will admit, through it all, you've gotten me out of a few strange scrapes. Whirlpools and speeding cars. Large rifles and larger cement trucks all pointed in my direction. Still, the glory of it all is strained by the fact that you technically got me into those messes in the first place. And it's hard to reward that kind of behavior.
All the emphasis on sticking with it and accomplishing goals, followed by the cruel joke of it all being meaningless because of the sick nature of our times. Pushing the idea of being one's self only to have it serve as more of a hindrance with the world at large. It's these little punchlines that keep us at odd's end. And while I accept them, and not in some strange "You work in mysterious ways" kind of bullshit, it's a sore spot. I glumly play along, lacking any real choice in the matter. I've taken the punches you've thrown and rolled with them as best I could. Tried hard to keep my complaints about how the place is run to a minimum since it's your roller rink buddy. But on this auspicious day, I feel the need to make a suggestion I've avoided making for some time now...
Give me my friend back you bastard.
Taking him away was a part of your recipe I never understood. It seemed like a rushed and foolhardy decision that completely lacked the basic logic you are so known for. For Christ sakes, the man was just coming off a divorce, barely getting his life together again. I was there for those last messy days. Well, as close as I could get with a cell phone anyways. It was a hard strange time for him, and I was just beginning to see the makings of the man that he once was. The light at the end of the tunnel. The man walked away from a train wreck, and just then, you decide to drop a chunk of airplane on him? Divinity comes with some brass balls. Admit it, he died weird. Passed on in a way that loaded massive shock and intense heartache on the people who knew him. Some days I can still remember what I saw in that coffin. The images never get easier. We never got the chemically loaded, glue and spackle version of him. None of that whole "He looks so natural," bullshit others get to use for comfort. No, we got true nature. We got the truth of his death. Withered bones, the remnants of skin and muscle covered by fine silk. What was left of his face showed no trace of the good man I was saying goodbye to. In that moment, seeing those remains, I almost forgot what he looked like. I think I may have been too scared to try. Associating that smiling face of his with the bones that lay before me might have destroyed what little I kept with me. It was wrong for him to go, and it was wrong for him to leave that way.
And I'm not so gutsy as to pretend my motives for this aren't selfish, they are. I want my friend back. I want the person who I could call at any time and talk about absolutely nothing with for hours on end. I want that person who let me be as crazy as I needed to be and was willing to go along for the ride. I want that person who's seen me at my worst, my most stuck up and stubborn, my cruelest and my darkest, and for some reason still stuck with me. Still called me a friend. You don't think that given the twisted course my life is in right now that I could use someone like that? That maybe I would like to laugh and joke about utter nonsense and have the weight off of me for just a few minutes? Trust me, I could.
I dreamed about him last night you know? Dreamed he called me up to tell me he was okay. That things were cool with him. And we got to talk for a few minutes before the noises of the day brought me back. I'm glad, truly I am. But it does little for my own private torments. I miss him. And I miss the fella he used to bring out of me whenever we hung out. A certain part of my being that will probably never see the light of day again without him. And not a day goes by where I think that all of the ridiculousness I'm facing wouldn't be a little bit easier with him around.
I'm willing to admit that my request here is unattainable. The idea of having him come back from the weepy blue is a little too zombified, bad science fiction for your tastes. Understandable. And exceptions to the rules just make for more paperwork. I'll accept that too. But be aware of the collateral damage your little decision has done. You made a bad choice in a long history of bad choices. And hopefully, somewhere you're owning up to it.
Of course, that's assuming that by some mere chance you exist. Otherwise, this whole thing ends up sounding mighty foolish.
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