Letter to a Loved One

Be careful that you don't confuse courage and masochism. The two can sometimes appear as one. The utter disdain of bodily pain, that savage lack of fear in the face of harm, is often attributed to bravery.

But let my laden clouds douse, for a moment, your perspective with mine. Holster your umbrella and bare to me your naked nape. Feel my didactic kiss coldly pepper your skin and summon goosebumps.

Humans are infinitely complex creatures beneath our simple routines. Sometimes we are pushed, but other times we thrust ourselves into the scalding fire. The natural, human reaction is to withdraw, but at times we do not. We like the pain; the stinging tears it brings.

We mutely watch as our flesh boils, like fascinated students of anatomy. We watch the scars form on our bodies from a neighboring perspective, though it is ourselves we mutilate. Pride, abhorrence, self-pity weld together into a high-browed romanticism that is sweetly poisonous to reason. It is a deadly nectar.

Oh, the liberation this nectar brings! What release there is in tragic downfall! How easy it is to shirk responsibility and cloak the soul in ennobled scorn! There lives a fear that causes one to wholeheartedly leap, frantic with adrenaline, into the very maw of despair. Its appetite is insatiable; it rarely frees its prey. Its nectar is its appeal, and death is never enough.