I Don't Know Who I Am

[ry0un0suke]

Left where ash meets snow and nothing remains.

Dear,

Before you died, I did not think of you. Distant from me building a legacy of branched names and beings. A stranger, in truth. Once we shared tea when you were a bit older than a boy and I explained what I could from a spring's view. I stay home most days now or hide in places I am certain I won't be found, but I know no one looks. That way, it is as if I hold agency over whether or not I am alone, like it is a choice. You did not have a choice, but I could not fathom what it was like to be raised by something more than man and beyond mortal. It sticks with me, how dumbfounded and paused your words left me. Until recently, I think I know exactly what you meant and I hate it. Rather than shrink, you grew, and I cower and curl hoping I crunch into nothing and disperse. Maybe it is not me writing, but the sorrows of the past slithering into the present. All I yearn to lie to rest in resurrection, rejuvenated and healthy.

 

Of all people to write to, I could not imagine it be you. I know in life you might have hated me. Who would not? Or, you did not care for me. Distant, of course, with far grander in our grasp. You, perhaps, my endeavors have not been grand, exciting, worthwhile. Wrought with worry, chased by phantoms. Thinking about you reminds me that I smile less and bury my joys in a burnt coffin so they cannot be revived. My joy opportunity for failure, my smiles something to exploit. Why can I not mimic what is beyond man and mortal? I strive and strive and strive and end up a stranger in the mirror I- again, again, again and again and again and again circle back to the question whimpered from in strained, tired throat 'Who am I?'.
 
...you would not know the answer. I believe this stopped being addressed to you. I pray you are resting. Your passing sometimes come to mind and I hope others think of you, too. You left behind so much that you still yet live just without name, breath or body. I will not lie and say I wish we did this, or if only we could have done that. A truth will be your peace. A truth I can write is that, in the end, everything you strived for eventually fell in line. I am sorry that it is me you receive a letter from all these years later.
 
Sincerely, 
Sunsets over Moonlight