Letter for Anthony

Orpheus was the greatest poet who ever lived. His music was so beautiful 

that when he played rivers would stop flowing, winds would stop blowing 

and the skies would open up, so his wondrous melodies could be heard by the gods in heaven.

One day, his wife Eurydice was bitten to death by vipers. Overcome with grief, 

Orpheus played heartbreaking songs with his lyre. The gods were moved and so advised 

Orpheus to travel to the land of the dead and sing his songs to Hades to bargain for his wife. 

So it was that Hades' heart was softened and allowed Eurydice to leave on one condition, that Orpheus would walk in front, and never look back...

Dear:

I do must confess, I'm sad. You make me feel sad. Because of yourself. Actually, I'm not sad of sadness. I feel sorry for you... compassion if you want. I really think your human being is pathetic. Wallowed in something you don't even know. Have you ever spoken to yourself, my dear? Have you ever looked at yourself in the mirror and actually seen what is in there? You are so smart. Wise. But wisdom doesn't turn rats into something better. Rats are smart enough. But rats are very different from sheep or fish. People doesn't deal with rats.

You do not feel love, gratitude, pain nor fear. Is there something you really feel? Do you ever cry? Guess what? I know you don't. And I could spend the entire night asking you things. And I know their answers. The good, and quite hilarious, thing is you know them as well and you don't care. You don't give a piece of shit. Oh my dear, how many problems do you have? Have you ever counted them? Because I am pretty sure you know them all. Perfectly. Because I assume you have to know your problems to not want to fix them, right?

Wow, there are certainly a lot of things I unknow. Nevertheless, I think they might be quite easy to find out. Your person just seems complex. But you are not a vortex precisely. I wish I could have taken revenge. But that's so not me. I'm not bad or good. Or maybe I am both but I'm dumb enough to not do it. How incredibly stupid I am writing to a fictional being who matches perfectly to somebody else? Huh... incredibly... I know.

Then, I realise there's something else with the revenge. Did you really deserve it? I do not know. As I said, there are a lot of things I unknow, but I have to accept I enjoyed seeing you doomed as I did. Even though the love you didn't use to carry in your heart was gone. And you had to start again. All over again. Then I started feeling sorry. I really don't want to jugde whether you deserve all you got or not. But now, I see, even though you'd lost everything that was in your mind you shortly became into the same comtemptible person you were before. And despite you had the chance, once again, you did not want it.

Rats live in the dark because they want to, Anthony. They fill their lives with darkness only. They hide from everything. They need darkness to hide. They come out just when they need something. Like food. They can just find food. They can never find love. Love is in the air. They stay right where they are because they want to. The sunlight is free for everyone. They just don't want to come out. Perhaps they are scared, you tell me. And I'm pretty sure you cannot find love down there in the sewer, in the dark. Sluts wouldn't work at night, don't you think? Rats seem to be locked in the sewer, metaphorically, of course. You can always sneak thru the drains. But since they seem to be locked (or they clearly believe so) they are not free. Like when you lie to your silly dog making him believe he's tied up to a chain, because you don't want him to move. He is not free (or again, he does believe he is not). Rats are not free. They will never find love. They will never fly. Never... Ever.

Jack.-