letter to the universe, death, and life
Dear universe,
You’re big and bold and scary.
There’s beauty in knowing that you can destroy me, and much like the ocean, I venerate you for that.
I’ve grown knowing pain and loss. I’ve grown wanting death. I’ve grown trying to reach the other side, trying to touch the light that didn’t want to be touched. I’ve tried multiple times to make it across, only to be continuously rejected by death.
Out of spite, I’ve decided to live. I wasn’t very good at dealing with rejection. I only now understand how death’s rejection was the greatest blessing life could give me.
Dear universe,
You’ve shaped me in ways I still can’t describe. While words are my weapons and tools in expressing the things that can’t be expressed, you remain a mystery I still can’t quite grasp. You somehow taught me that there’s beauty in the obscure—the unknown. It took me time, but I understand now.
I’ve always struggled with letting go, with surrendering control—no matter how little of it I had. I would argue and fight and destroy myself willingly because my ego couldn’t accept that anything or anyone else besides myself could decide my faith. Therefore, I had to destroy before being destroyed.
What a way to live. I mean, I understand now I wasn’t really living, barely even surviving. I was simply filling.
Dear death,
I was obsessed with you. Obsessed to the point where I tried anything and everything to get to you. You were so mysterious to me, so obscure and inciting. I wanted you so badly, yet you refused all of my advances. I kept trying, harder, stronger, and more violently. You were my biggest rejection and I couldn’t get over it. So I thought « what better way to get back at death than by making a pact with life ».
Dear death,
Thank you. you saw what I couldn’t see—what I didn’t want to see. By learning everything I could learn about and from you, you gave me a new perspective on my surroundings. You gave me the chance to exist on my terms; made me understand that life could be whatever I wanted it to be. I just needed to give it a chance.
Dear death,
You are everywhere. No one can get away from you. I guess I can consider myself lucky that while some pray for you to leave their doorstep, you didn’t even consider my knocking at your door. You’re quite a tease, aren’t you? I understand why people are afraid of you. But in you, I see a softness; a certain beauty no one can reach. Much like the universe and the ocean, I venerate you for that. You are a reminder that everything is temporary, and what better way to live fully than to be reminded of your existence and power.
Dear life,
I’m not sure where I fit in with you. Where I’m supposed to stand or where I’m supposed to go. This all feels like an unrehearsed play. The spotlight seems to be on me and I can’t see what’s ahead. I wish there was a prompter but it feels more like improv—except there’s no theme, no subject, no other actor besides myself. I write my script on the go, coming up with whatever embraces me at that moment. I’ve never been good at improv. I stumble with my words and struggle with finding an answer on the spot. I’m better when I know who I am, what I need to say, and where I need to go on cue.
Dear life,
Your stage seems infinite. More than the king and queen’s sides, your juxtapositions are above everything I can find on the map I’ve built little by little existing alongside you. You never seem to stop. You never seem to stop growing. You never seem to stop giving.
Dear life,
Thank you for having me. I know I wasn’t easy, but I’m grateful to be part of the show now. Once the curtains fall, I’ll give death a big kiss for you. But for now, I can hear the seats filling up, and while I still have no clue of what play we’re doing, I’m ready to pour my soul into whatever you throw my way.
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