-The fifth letter, found in an open prison cell-
Some letters don't deserve sweet endearments. I have called you 'dear', have named you 'beloved' and I have declared you as a 'treasure'.
But never have I addressed you as wholly mine.
Today, I call you mine, in every sense of the word, because it is the day I have decided to be yours.
Or rather, be you.
Well, I guess those are just semantics.
Thus, I name you Oblivion.
My Oblivion, or your Oblivion?
I'm beginning to understand that they are the same thing.
You are no longer the ethereal stranger of a winter night, for when I show you a piece of my soul, you show me a piece of your own, as well.
One day, I will find out who you are.
Not yet, though. Right now, I'm busy tasting Oblivion.
Here's the thing.
Change is HARD.
I never understood how difficult a process, metamorphosis was.
Never did I consider the sheer amount of pain that Winter goes through in order to become Spring.
I used to think stagnation was the only kind of prison.
But not all prisons are blessed with the safety of four walls and a barred window.
Change is the most ruthless jailer, for he wields Oblivion, instead of Chains.
When you are in the prison of Oblivion and Change, you begin to crave the manacles, because they will keep you tethered. The bite of cold iron will cut your wrists, but what is a little blood, compared to the systematic break down of the life you built?
We humans hold on to things so tightly, with no consideration to whether those things are good or bad for us. Maybe that's the only thing we know.
And now, you've broken me out of one prison, and put me in another.
I feel as if I'm a wanderer in Piranesi's Imaginary Prisons.
There is no sense of time or direction. I'm simply drunk on vertigo.
No warmth, no cold.
The only thing I can feel is me, tearing down parts of my soul, opening doors, letting fresh air in to the musty rooms.
The wide hallways echo with the cries of ghosts. They are the remnants of 'what had been's and 'what would have been's. Perhaps my own ghosts are here. Maybe your ones as well.
But all prisons do have an ending, and that suggests that there is another beginning as well.
After all, the end of an end is another beginning.
A wanderer in search of beginnings.