Letter

My dear, beautiful Aaron, Some days of the week I find myself wondering what would have happened if I'd accompanied you to Oregon. We probably would have ripped apart, but that's just my speculation. I sensed you had a journey to make but had only bought one ticket, so rather than crowd the other passengers, I chose to remain on the platform and wave my white flag goodbye as my tears flushed away your image. I should have left Mike alone on the train I reserved that day I never told you about. I heard the alarm ringing even then, but I kept hitting "snooze" instead, and to get away from the sound I drowsily stumbled into your dream to curl up there for awhile. One cannot breakfast without waking, and although I had no hunger, his promise of caramel rolls was so sweet I allowed myself to be lured out of sleep... "They're not quite ready yet," he said, over and over again, "but they'll be amazing when they are." And instead of moving on to a bakery that was actually open, I crawled into the oven to wait lovingly for his nourishment. A product of the Sun, I embraced the heat, but slowly I suffocated and starved until he swept my charred remains from the sacred dough that continues still to rise--not for me--but for the previous customer. "Oh," he suddenly notices me again, "I've stopped serving, but I'd love for you to work in my kitchen." I realized then that all the heat radiated soley from my passion, and when forcefully extinguished, it is loathe to ignite the candles to set someone else's mood. But thank you for holding my hand under the table as I realzied my fire was getting me baked too much. You helped me grow despite the weeds. Now, a little weed in the garden never hurts unless it affects the quality of one's grain, but then again, I have always had a taste for the Bread of Affliction. I once broke this bread with you and your family. Now I am broken and in need of your charoset recipe to rebuild not my walls but my foundation; my soul is lost Rabbi, can you not guide her? She who shimmers in my dreams has not come on her white horse to rescue this awkward child crying from the harsh world she foolishly found. The schoolboy in me knows he is being taught an important lesson but cannot decipher its moral. You watched me roll down a hill by your school. Every day on my way to work I pass a mountain with three steep slopes similar to that grassy grade, and I feel myself tumbling down and around the way I go over and over everything in my head until I wish to bash my brains out on a hidden rock. You are a child of the Earth; will your jagged stones open my mind, vent the boiling blood, cure my insanity? Or will they strike another blow to my heart, one so sharp I will never cease to bleed and am left forever weakened? You have met Rattlesnake; will he meet me on the mountainside, whisper a secret, intoxicate me into ecstatic delirium? Or will he poison my being with the wickedness I fear is already inside me, the badness that haunts yesternight's dreams to the point where I stop looking for trains when driving across tracks in hope that one will meet me head-on and take me elsewhere... I am afraid of many things, but not now do I nor ever have I feared to tell you that I love you muchly. This time will you sing me the Garden Song? I will meet you there in dreamland tonight where baby dragons swim beneath zebra finches and two eager scholars help expand the universe by breaking it down one handheld silence at a time.