October Graces
an excerpt

Dear Claire,

I doubt you’ll ever see this letter or the ones after it, but I can’t seem to write anymore. Nothing creative seems to come out of my pen and I feel dried out even if I try. I’m sure it’s just the medication kicking in and I know it keeps me from losing it.

I sacrifice my creativity for my sanity and I can’t tell which is for the best. My mom is happy that I am acting more like myself, but in all honestly, I’m not sure who myself really is. I was in darkness for so long that the real James never seemed to surface.

People think that I’m the loud guy at the parties, doing a case race with one of my friends. Or dancing downstairs where all the bodies are grinding against one another, sweaty and heated. I’m not any of these. It’s just an ugly mask I wear that you saw through.

At least you understand me. I remember you telling that me that I get you better than anyone has and that frightens you.

Don’t be frightened. I feel the same way, too.

Your James