There seems to be a resurgence for nostalgia for years and years past. For the old, dead internet and the possibilities and mysteries which died along the wandering lost. Everything now is corporate, fenced off into single blocks lined up in a single street. The waves and places we cannot see, we forgot. We are fine here in our limited view; at least it is so easy to understand, to navigate. 

What will you say through the radio, old me? A voice in static in between odd frequencies: it's nice to see you're still alive and living, over. Are you ghost, or have you dissipated with time? Does time dissipate at all? Now me no longer think of such things -- but it's felt in late night rides passing by a new road lined up with new lights. White and bright, out of place in my town so old. I've always had this dream of a midnight bus to nowhere, the world outside wrapped in this greenish glow dark. Unknowns lurked but the metal body kept the warm ones safe inside, yet we could still see it all through the windows, all nothingness. It's felt in the hard-to-grasp films, in grainy signals only for two stumbled upon by anxious listeners, the familiar song crackling after you're long dead and gone. Why do you love the uncertain horror of it all? To observe the wild unknown from a cocoon. To be let in on some cosmic secret just for the few, without taxes. 

What ever happened to how are yous? over. Perhaps I've grown to despise whatever words sent my way. No winning, nothing to even lose. There's always the want to dissect your mind, to decode the cryptic pictures you painted. The new languages. The new songs bringing back the time in college of waiting for the unknown in a cafeteria. Now, the future's here, over. A wedding, a kiss, and then the slow dawn of realization about how all of our beliefs had been wrong. Filling in the gaps of a tree, its roots growing wider and deeper, as I remain in the treetops tying up the loose ends of your face tangled into the others. 

Have you come back, over. Was the promise of a long run ever true? Was this letter even for you? Or, you? Asked the tarot man about what to do but eventually just let it go. Just let it go, just walk in a straight line. This town's so small, that if we never meet by chance anywhere, in grocery aisles or the street where you live or the tracks we last walked together, then perhaps we'll never meet again. But it's nice to see you're still alive and living, over.

with love,

abelink