Letters to Isabelle

13

I was labeled as a mental disabled.

I couldn't go anywhere without being recognized as the son of the lovely and perfect American Christian couple that lived in Dean St.

I'd hear whispers like,

"God save us all, this child is unholy and full of sins."

I was annoyed for a while, but now I was just angry.

So I left for a while, and did things.

Just one.
But I did more,
Too much and they were noticeable.

I was angry at my self and everyone.

I covered them,
I covered them with art.
I couldn't stand to see them.
Those battles were too painful,
Too unhappy.
They would follow me for now and forever.

Today I'm here.
And I'm standing in a precipice,
And I look down,
And there is this little voice in my mind that says, "Jump"...

It's the same voice, the voice that also says,
"Just one"....

It wasn't caused by anything it was just there.

And then I look back up and turn around.

And then I just see this girl, and it made me think of myself, how I always stayed alone.

No crowds for me, thank you. I used to think to myself.

I saw the way she digged into her book with her reading, as if she hoped she could jump right in and travel to that fictional Wonderland she looked so interested in.

She seemed to light up, as if something was giving me a hint.

As if to say,

Go after her.

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