Dear Editha

Editha, I know that you think everything's fine.
Let me assure you that it's in fact unsettling.
It feels as though a tornado is ripping through
this canvas and onto the wooden floor before us.
Do you remember the portrait that was left
in front of the living room? It was a beautiful
sight until two hands met between the center
and brushed black onto the scene. This eventually
flooded the whole picture until all that was left,
was a sheer reflection of darkness. After leaving
the room, I found a little bundle of pages. They
were marked with scribbles and pencil marks. They
once echoed a story of love or maybe it was just
lust. Who knows? As tempting as it is to burn the
pages away until the last ash, Editha, I've kept
them til this day. Do I have any reason to keep
the pages bundled between creases and folds?
The truth is, that I'm too scared to even
think about opening them again. The feelings and
thoughts rush back onto that portrait. I suddenly
turn away and react as if though I'm staring into
the sun. I don't want to recall any of this..Editha
please help me to face the truth. Even though you
can move on and freely paint onto a new canvas..
my hands are still stained with this black ink.
As I try to begin a new portrait..I only smear
a black smudge onto that white background.
It might take a set of brushes or even just
someone to take that painting down off the
easel, but Editha.....Let me assure you that
as the ink can stain and bleed into the screen,
surely....you've stained and burned into a canvas
which I can never look away from. It's best for me
to just splash a new can of white onto it all.
That would be best....don't you think? Now that
I look back in retrospect....I regret everything.
Tell me....What did you get out of this? We can
barely see eye to eye now. What did I get out of
this? Stained hands....and much more. Please
don't try to look away. I don't know how you could
keep painting the way you do. Don't you have any
remorse? Don't you have any dignity? I can't answer
these questions for you...but I can't answer them
for myself either. The only thing that I can do
for myself...and for you...is really just leave
it all behind. I can only leave the stained canvas
where it lays. I can only leave all the smeared
portraits where they stand. I can only close this
door and never......open it again. No matter how
tempting or inviting it might be, I only know that
what waits for me inside...is a tornado that will
rip me apart. So with all of that said, Editha
I leave you locked in the room as well.




Sincerely,

Jeoffrey