Into Their Wilderness

The Letter.

'And then you ask yourself, have you ever really encountered something bona fide? An illustration or occurrence that made
your breath hitch and your body numb; an occasion where the blood flowing within you might as well have frozen and time stood still, waiting...enveloping. It could be a person, or 'that' person; maybe that pet you've always longed for or the trip you grudgingly embarked on. Then again, your moment could've been collective and mutual (a camaraderie of sorts), or it never really was your own but something you considered rightfully yours. Or maybe, just maybe, it is as widespread as his, or as analogous as hers. Don't misinterpret what I'm saying: your 'that one time' might as well be a horror and I'd readily bask in its dread. Nevertheless, some of us journey through worlds and live a multitude of lives, and you'd still never find your juncture, 'shooting past as they do these days'.

Blame it on circumstances if you will, and I'd blame it on your inanity.

Am I mocking you? I'd be lying if I said I wasn't mocking the imbecility of man, for sure. But if you know me or you've ever made my acquaintance, you'll apprehend these words couldn't possibly be more 'me' than while you've stumbled across this. Unlike Alice you see, I haven't lost my muchiness yet and you, the deranged but luminous Hatter will willingly acknowledge this for ours is a tale as old as the existence of endearing and affable shenanigans.

Therefore...yes. Perhaps this does serve to disparage and deride you, and me, and everyone else caught up in the wisps of schedules and the ticking of a clock that might as well dictate your life. This isn't philosophy; it won't urge you to find your 'calling' or 'discover yourself'. This is, in all authenticity, a question. So if you were hoping for a big finish or something that would make you start existing right within the moment, you're desolately quite erroneous. Trust me though; I hope I had possessed that talent to weave words like I could weave slander or spurt sarcasm. Dejectedly however, I seem to be too self-effacing and modest for a talent of such sorts; they taught us that to brag is a sin after all. Regardless, I won't pose a distinct question; this is for you to interpret as you will. Because reality is surreal you see, it is as you choose it to be; shaping itself according to the wishes of those too petrified to jump off a cliff. And maybe that is where our fault has always lied; you can, but you won't. Specifically because you know if you desired to, you might as well have achieved it. And then there are those like us, I say us because I rejoice in the grandeur that I am not the only one; those of us who possess desires sparked at the very last minute, endeavour applied at the very last instance, but results better than those who have dreamt and yet, had their attempts rendered futile. If you're one of those people, stop reading. (I know you won't, and I didn't stop typing these words out either so let's refrain from deeming me hypocritical).
I shall now proceed to adequately pity you for not 'going for it', or 'giving it a shot', in the simplest of terms, being a 'scaredy-cat'. What is it you wanted to do again? And more vitally, why didn't you? You're terrified of a society that has existed, and will continue to exist, in all its bigoted and blinkered frame of living. My grandmother once told me you were never really living if it wasn't as you- she didn't actually, but the words of those we consider elders seemingly always have more of an impact since they're embedded with astuteness and laced with acumen; hence, the false reference.

Maybe this isn't really my point or the one I want driven home candidly, but inevitably, the fact remains, there is a hesitance so palpable within us we forget to live; emphasising my questioning of your instance, that one where you felt alive and woke and winded all at once.  Like I stated earlier, you won't find or come across some clandestine ideology that'll transform you into...yourself. But maybe, maybe you'll think about why you you're the way you are, and if you're content...then rest assured, you are yourself.
But if you're enveloped within this permanent state of wretchedness, you need help; an asylum too probably.

You're dead and you scarcely even comprehend it.

Alright my apologies, that was callous. What I honestly meant, is that one day you're going to grow fainter like those nightmares that seemed all too flamboyant but abysmal to ever exist. I won't apologise this time, I've always been a brutal realist. Think about it, contemplate it, comprehend it; they all mean the same thing so start small if you will. Hike the Grand Canyon and actually visit Tomorrowland; oh I meant, speak up in class or work to join that club you always wanted to in school...I'm forgetting how caged we are within the prisons of our mind. Step up, or step down if you've an elevated self-esteem (imbecile). I'm not motivating you and neither do I intend to; I'm simply urging you to prompt yourself into a world where living is easier. And then one day, you'll find your moment.

Because when you've all the answers, you know you're where you longed to be. Someone once told me you only get one life, and to live like every day is your last, a rather renowned belief. Honestly though? I'd rather live like today compensates for an eternity of tedious tomorrows. Carpe Noctem.

(I wouldn't have said 'Carpe Diem' regardless).

You know me better than I've known myself, you always have Kira.
You always will. Find me Kira, in Ole' Shilly.
Find me just because it will be fun.
And when you do, we'll rage away our lives.
I've missed you'.

I read his letter for what seemed to be the hundredth time, unable to truly comprehend or forget what I seemed to be reading.
Adrian was hiking away in some old town up south, simply because he wanted to have 'some fun'.

Yes, that did sound like the person I'd grown up with...

Sighing softly, I glanced at the sky, 'God help me please. Don't make me do something I'll prevalently regret'.

His letter, it was all philosophical and very him, and yet, the air of mystery he delivered in those last few lines pulled at my soul. It seemed he was mocking me with ancient sarcasm while refraining from exhibiting his adventures, I was so sure of that. Why else would his bitch ass wait to mention Ole' shilly until the very end...

He built it all up, the security and careful meticulous nature I led my life by; his words seemed like an article but ultimately depicted the essence of my very life...all to simply hurl a rock at it with his invitation.

I took a deep breath.