The Leap

3 min
To Whom It May Concern:

If you're reading this, then it means i've failed. More appropriately stated: I've failed to find the source of silence and the peace it brings. My life's work feels mute now, impossible to bear the weight crushing down on my shoulders; I'm no Atlas, but that I already knew.

If I was and shared in his divine punishment, the world would have dropped almost instantly. Even as a stone wall, most of my stones have fallen out and I'm riddled with moss, now.

My life, cursed since childhood, suffered from the static I heard, making me unseromoniously walk the earth's crust like static myself, unable to sit and hear the silence I needed the most. The silence that I was told would bring the much needed reprieve I begged for.

When we'd first met, I was young and unsuspecting as kids tragically are. We'd share secrets and frolic like young children would; you were to be a part of me. That was your promise when we first met. Then, as I got older and my friends lost their imaginary voices, yours stayed. You stayed and you grew and I became diminished, reduced to your shadow.

I started to wonder what I did to deserve someone like you, my dear companion. Sometimes I thought it was punishment for what I'd grow to do in the future, other times it just felt like divine intervention. You accompanied friendships — some you even raped. However, we blamed me because it was easier. It was always easier to blame me than you, and even when I tried, they never believed me.

"Toughen up," they'd preach, while you'd mimic them with a heavy voice.

It felt impossible to feel this small and yet, here we are. Atop a cliff with a long way down into undisturbed soil. You were only growing fatter, eating pieces of me and in return I was letting you; I became willing to hear your static voice whisper, again and again. I grew afraid of never feeling your presence, as twisted as that may be. Even now, standing here, I can't hear the rain or the birds, or even the wind in the trees. All I can hear is you pushing me closer to the edge. Where I once had privacy, I am now your wavering slave that's become afraid of you leaving. I want to share this view with you, for the last time. Together.

"Be a man," you'd whisper in my ear. "Do it." You'd repeat, over and over with each attempt.

The worst part? I was afraid of the day you'd leave me, unbound and reduced to a shriveled, hollowed out husk. Afraid to make any decision for myself.

Sharing my secret with strangers seemed easier than it did with friends, perhaps because it felt less poisonous? We'd laugh in the moments where we shared things we hoped the other might forget the next day. Don't worry, I've forgotten your secrets just as I suspect you have mine. Maybe it's better how illusively therapeutic it can be, laughing and crying with strangers?

This mountain top, surrounded by swaying pines and babbling brooks is my apology. A last attempt at silence. I wanted to hear the rain without you, just once and smile instead of hide my tears with the sky's. We were tethered together at birth perhaps, but I was tamed into this life and you, my friend, had the whip.

It's overwhelming to think of the memories you haven't touched that lead us here; the one's I've forgotten now because of you, always the good ones that could have been better. Everything is infected with your static — everything is so heavy. You made me feel helpless. Powerless underneath your shadow like an ant looking up at the moon. I was so afraid, until I couldn't be anymore. Until that fear began to feel weightless underneath my wings the first time I lept, and the second time after that, and the third.

Each subtle leap, each smile. Every action a leap that brought me further away from your shadow until soon you were so below me you became lost in the forest and seas. That's all it is: a brave leap, a series of small movements forwards that brings you to hear the calm of the silence without its voice. You know the one. The one who whispers and you think is always right.

If you find this letter here, firmly kept nailed to the bark of this tree then please know, I lied. I lied in the beggining of this hopeless story of mine so you'd listen, whoever you are. I'm sorry, but I had to, otherwise would you really have read this to its necessary end? I certainly wouldn't have.

Sometimes it feels impossible to think there is a light at the end of the tunnel. I thought the same; I thought you'd always be my parasite, allowing fear to leech my strength. In the end, you were exactly that. A parasyte. One I could starve. You're still with me, my little companion; however, your voice is so much quieter. You're almost silent, at times. Piece by piece, I'm replacing my lost stones. Now, instead of the moss that envelops my skin, you are the frail leafs that live within the cracks that come and go with so little as a gentle breeze.

Leave this note, please. Let someone else know they deserve to hear their silence.

Everyone does.

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