Caught

Unfortunately, I am aware that if this is the last letter I'd write you, I would soon be dead. Not in a morbid way, but I would like to delve into death momentarily while on the subject. I was driving today, my broken car, deep in thought about all of my “problems” (worriers and concerns). Rather close to your house actually, and I thought - wow, all of these things in my life, the bad the good, the oh-that-it-not-quite-completed could vanish in one second. My demise could occur so many different ways, and as often as I ponder related concepts I was yet to think of my life as so fragile. I lie in my bed and decide time and time again that your actions cause so much more of an effect on my life than your own. And it’s kind of crazy to think of that being so incredibly and genuinely true, maybe because I have never once before felt the opposed or contrary. What makes it difficult for me I decided is your lack of belief in such a personal FACT, I understand completely that your decisions are a part of you, and how they are committed to memory whether it be your conscious or subconscious. But me on the other hand somehow end up involuntarily suffering and wallowing in a weird misery over your life choices. It’s as if you told me every specific mistake you make was secretly done in hopes to destroy me. Usually in fact it is closer to the opposite entirely, but that changes nothing.