Of Fortune and Accidents

A Tale Incomplete

My Beautiful Sara,

A tale is told of fortune and accident. It is not a long tale, nor a short one. It is not extraordinary nor mundane. It falls somewhere right in the middle. Yet it is one of woe and wonder, breath-taking yet boring, serious yet o-so-jocular. It bears all the hallmarks of magnificence and yet does not rise above the level. It seems to be a magnum -opus, an unforgettable work of art and yet when it rolls of people’s lips they all miss the beat of it. It is alive and dead, exists and yet it doesnt. It is all around us, yet utterly invisible.

This tale has been written since the beginning of time, winding its roots through the fertile soils of existence. It has bound itself to history, seeking verisimilitude in all its acts. And yet, it is a falsehood, it is nothing more than a figment of the imagination, a random thought put on paper by pen and written away.

Its characters are rich and dynamic. Great and small all meet in its pages. They dance the great dance of life. Their winding paths meeting and parting with every period, every comma and every stop. Some characters live with you forever. their memorable deeds shaping the story permanently. These are the blazing fires. Others are sparks, bright and fierce, they ignite the world around them and set of blazes that burn through the pages. Some are silent, the words flow past them. And they are forgotten in the deluge.

But this story is different. This story has many authors, all appending at the same time. Multitudes upon multitudes, their pens whistle away, scratching out their words on this paper. Each one an author by their own right. Some of their words may fade, overwritten by the others that come after. Some of their words may be forgotten, unread by those that cast their eyes there. But make no mistake, my love, the words are never erased. they are permanent. They are a mark indelible. Forgettable, sometimes invisible, but never erasable.

And so here we find ourselves, you and I, writing away on this lovely book of existence. I know not where this story leads, which paths it may take. But I do know one thing. You are no spark. You are a blazing fire.

Burn brightly, love.

Yours, Always,

Lawrence

#Letters #Stories