I hope this message finds you in the best mental space possible. It’s the first of March—a fresh page in a whole new year—and I’ve been meaning to reach out for what feels like forever. Life has happened in so many ways, both expected and unexpected, but through it all, you’ve remained on my mind.
I realized a while back that you had gone MIA. I actually tried reaching out in November, hoping to reconnect, but there was no getting through to you on any medium. At first, I thought maybe you were just caught up in life—things get hectic, I get that—but as time passed, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. I found myself going over our last conversations, wondering if I had somehow wronged you or if I’d said something that pushed you away. I combed through every possible interaction in my head, but I couldn’t find a reason—at least, not one I was aware of.
And maybe there isn’t a reason. Maybe life just pulled you in another direction, as it often does. But I can’t pretend like I haven’t felt the absence. The truth is, I don’t let many people in. I’ve never been the type to have a long list of male friends, partly because I’ve never truly felt safe around the stereotypical Jamaican man. But with you, it felt different. For once, I thought I had found a home—someone I could be candid with, someone I could share art with, talk nonsense with, and have the kind of deep, unfiltered conversations that don’t come around often. It felt like I had someone who understood, who got the layers of who I am. And then, you vanished.
I don’t say this lightly: I miss you, Luke. I miss our talks, the randomness, the shared appreciation for things most people overlook. I miss the way we could just exist in conversation without pretense. It’s rare to find that kind of connection, and even rarer to lose it without understanding why.
I know the world gets heavy, and sometimes, we retreat into ourselves because that’s the only way we know how to cope. If that’s where you are right now, I respect it. You don’t owe me an explanation, and you’re under no obligation to respond. I just wanted you to know that I’m here. That whenever you’re ready—whether it’s tomorrow, next month, or next year—the door is still open.
I hope you’re okay, truly. And if you ever need someone to just sit in the silence with you, to talk about art, to laugh at something completely ridiculous, or to just be—know that I’m still here. Take care of yourself, Luke.
Best Regards,
K.B
50 days and 17 hours and 45 minutes later in a coffee shop Downtown Columbus 4:15 pm
Dear KB,
I’ve sat with your words like a communion wafer on the tongue—a reminder of our friendship, crucified. I can’t help but feel like both Peter and Judas. I don’t know how to hold love without fearing its expiration. I’ve never known how to accept care without questioning the terms. Maybe I’m selfish. Maybe I’m damaged. Maybe both. But my mind runs, and I run with it. I pick up speed, then outrun it. I turn off the light in my soul and let the dark in.
I want to tell you I can do life alone. But I can’t.
I grew my hair. I wanted to show you. I wanted your thoughts on this rebellion I can’t name. I went to clubs alone and wept in public bathrooms. I ate until I hated myself, then starved until I disappeared. I woke up in beds that weren’t mine, hoping each one would erase the last. I tried to break myself. To self-destruct without making noise. I looked at Tylenol pills with envy. I fought sleep like it was trying to kill me. I read scripture like sage, desperate for a balm. I whispered verses in the dark, not sure who I was talking to anymore.
I ran.
I tried to do “human” alone. And I almost... became something else.
I don’t know if this fits the genre of letters. I don’t know how to surrender to the peace of friendship, to remain tethered to the nourishment of your hands. But I thought of you. On the nights I caved. On the nights I wept and wished someone could see me not to fix me, just to witness me not be okay.
I craved your assurance but didn’t know how to ask. I wrote, then destroyed. Made art from the wound, then aborted it with mistrust. I wanted to reach out so many times, but shame kept catching my tongue. I thought disappearing would keep you from seeing the worst of me. I didn’t know that disappearing was the worst of me.
If you’re still there…
Thank you.
If you’re not, I understand. I never meant to vanish. I just forgot how to be held.
Of course I sang the song at the beginning. 🎶 From a little cottage in Negril 🎶
KB : she did pour her soul in that note; not for it to be overlooked ,but to be reminded and assured all the time spent was worth it.
Luke ! ! I just feel a little emotional here. I don’t pity Luke, but man , he has a-lot going on.
This piece reminds me of ‘Letters to Aunt Jen’ but it’s on the loving elevated poetic side.
“Made art from wounds but abort it due to mistrust” . bars I tell you. 🔥🔥🔥🔥
“Read scriptures like sage” 🔥
What fitting biblical allusion. Peter- lover, a coward/ little faith and Judas- betrayer.