Monday, May 5, 2014

Dear Abyss

Dear Abyss,

I’m only any good at writing letters. Conversations, text messages, snap chats and emails are all too awkward. I find that through letters I can say what I feel, then justify it, and sound like a decent person. And so again, I come crawling to you burdened with yet another heavy load of papers. I only have so many hands, and all my bags are full. (I begged the flight attendant to let me bring one more bag, but apparently that’s illegal.) Perhaps I might put my new found knowledge to waste, so I can travel home empty handed and free to repeat history in a horrifically ignorant bliss.

I often fear that as I empty my bags into you, part of me will accidentally empty too, only to be refilled by the stories Matt-The-Guy-Sitting-Next-To-Me-On-My-Flight-Home told me about his sister’s husband.

To most people, you seem so dark and permanent. Truth is, no one really knows if you even have a bottom, and for all I know you go somewhere. You keep poking me on Facebook, and I keeping poking you back, even though it serves no purpose to social networking. Rarely you message me. I don’t like answering, but sometimes I can’t help it. I never thought I could make a conversation so awkward.

You insist on reaching out, yet you hold a great secret. Sometimes I’m tempted to figure out that secret for myself.

The point of my writing to you, Abyss, is to ask for a refund. It seems my bags got switched up at the airport, and that my own belongings were lost. I’m stuck with a bag I don’t recognize, it’s tattered and oversized, with a broken zipper right down the heart. If you could please give me my own bags back, it would be appreciated. If you cannot, I might have to go get it myself, which is far more difficult.


Solstice Everston


  1. This blew my mind a little bit. It left me dizzy and depressed, yet somehow euphoric. I'm so excited to read more of these!!!


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