I make a ruckus about being a published author and it dawned to me that some newer eyes on here are unfamiliar with my writing outside of this blog.
My gift to you today is one of the letters in my book Drafts: 100 Letters I Will Never Send. Maybe it encourages you to buy my book *super loud cough* really need y’all’s money. Or maybe it gets you thinking about how you would want to be remembered when your number is up.
Regardless, this is my gift to you.
To anyone who cares (in case I die)
I am sorry I have died. Even more so that I have died at this particular
time. I had plans and dreams and shit to do and I suppose some of it
involved you. I am sorry I have not stuck around as long as I should
have. I honestly would have loved to but there is a plan and a reason
and a God in heaven who knows what He is doing.
I am not sure if I have the ability to miss earth form where I am. But
if I do, I swear I miss the sound of my mother’s loud voice on the
phone waking me up every morning. I miss the smell of dog as my
puppy licks my face. I miss the sun peeking through my window.
Above all I miss the beauty of being alive and being part of life- even
as a tiny inconsequential part of it. I miss life.
That’s not to say you should feel bad for me. Please don’t. Because I
lived. I lived the best way I knew how and I have no regrets as far as
that is concerned. I loved. Deeply. Stupidly. All too much and yet
somehow never enough. I lived out a forgivable portion of my dreams,
I made mistakes, some big, most of them really small. Should I ever
have regrets, it will be that I spent too much time obsessing over the
little mistakes I made. I laughed. Boy, did I laugh. Till my face hurt,
till I cried, till I could literally feel my stomach at the tip of my tongue
and sometimes till I peed myself a little. So don’t worry about me. I
lived a full life- as full as I could – given the time that I was given.
Onto worldlier issues: give all my photographs to my mother. Give all
my clothes to my sister, if she can’t fit in them, have her give them
away. If I have any contraband, give it to my brother. Give my humble
book collection to my best friend. There are about ten notebooks on
my desk. They are filled with ideas and concepts… give them to my
boss, he will know what to do with them. Give my sneakers to the
boy I love. (Most of them are unisex and I’m pretty sure he can fit in a size 8).
I have a memory box in my closet and I don’t know what
you’ll do with that one. Dealer’s choice.
In all this, I only ask that you remember me. It sounds like a ridiculous
request but life has a habit of going on even under the worst of
circumstances. One day you will try to remember the sound of my
laughter and you won’t. On another day, you’ll try to remember which
side of my face my half dimple was on and you won’t remember. I
forgive you. You can forget that. But please don’t forget me.
And please don’t let the world forget me either. Just find a way of
bringing my name up any chance you get. Just don’t make it weird. I
mean you can only bring up a dead girl so many times before it
becomes creepy. Walk that fine line.
Thank you for having taken time to know me. I appreciate you. Till
we meet again.
That is my favourite letter out of the whole book. Did I convince you yet? Even if I didn’t, hawu guys, buy my book.
