Dearest Purple Rain

LETTER 1

Dearest Purple Rain,

Loneliness experienced within a sea of countless others seems to be one of the most persistent issues of our time. ‘To be or not to be’ also seems, at times, an all consuming issue.

Writing to someone, to you, makes it all seem more visceral, more real, I suppose. Oh purple rain, I chose someone who is soft, kind, and unlikely to discover me. Truth be told, this is more for me than anything - I long for understanding in a period of my life when I’m frequently misunderstood and the circumstances of my life are less than ideal. Many may assume talking it over will suffice, but silence is sometimes the greatest byproduct of understanding. Thankfully, my selfishness in the matter should theoretically go unobserved, since you’re not here.

I’ve recently moved from Kentucky to Massachusetts. Being a small town redneck gal who prizes herself on wit, humor, and warmth, I’ve found the New England culture rewarding, yet frustrating. They’re truly peculiar and funny. If I’m too bright or smiley (which happens a lot) nobody trusts me. Bostonians seem well guarded, but from what I haven’t the foggiest idea.

I love people; individuals. Getting to know someone and listening to their stories -watching their faces animate at the recounting of their memories touches my soul in a way nothing else does, so it’s unfortunate I have yet to make a friend here. It’s hard to break into this crowd. It’s an awfully fancy place and I’m anything but fancy.

More polarizing than my humor is the idea of living as a whole being, but that’s a societal issue. Who would’ve thought new age Eastern philosophy could be so controversial?

I don’t know what I’m doing here writing to you, a stranger. I’m not seeking validation, attention, or even a response. I just find the idea of sharing my recollections with someone in such a state of free truth to be so fulfilling and...romantic?

Not conventionally so, but the romance of the world is boundless, and the bulk of humanity seems to have lost its propensity for it. It’s a shame, really. There’s so much delight around us, and yet we spend our time with our heads buried in our narratives, validating our egos as we embrace the death of our essence.

Where Massachusetts sometimes lacks warmth among its people, it alternatively has been rich in the way of mother nature. I’ve been to so many places full of natural beauty. The land here speaks to me and when I’ve had a tough day, I can visit these places of personal refuge and know that I am home. I even danced on a lake’s dock, sparking joy within as a reminder to myself I am still vibrantly alive and that breathing within itself is enough.

It is late and I am finally drowsy after unburdening myself to you. Might I make this a standing appointment? To write to someone that isn’t there - is it total madness or just hopeful optimism? Does the possibility of your judgment on my actions truly matter? For it is only life, after all.