Blackout Writing, 1

found art unearthed in the archives. it appeared on my monitor one winter’s evening long ago, seemingly of its own accord. it’s just a fragment but i was clever enough to click save. i hope you enjoy.


Dear Trinity,

I heard from some friends that you weren’t feeling well. I don’t know who was picking on you, you know I don’t listen to those rumors, but I heard you were hurt so that makes me hurt.

I don’t know if this will help, but when I lost momma I kind of came part for a while. I didn’t want to see my friends or even go to school even though everyone told me I should, that I should just go on acting like things were normal because “life goes on.” I didn’t understood that. how could life just go on without her? how could anything ever be normal again as long as there was this giant hole in the middle of me where she used to be? thinking about that hole made me feel useless and powerless. there was nothing I could do to fix it. there was nothing I could do to hide it and I was convinced that everybody could see it, see through me, see that I was broken.

but then I met you. and I remembered what momma used to say when she was working in her garden, that sometimes life throws you a curve and you have to stand in the batter’s box and swing at it. Otherwise you might strike out. I guess I never told you how much momma loved . . .


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