Something of Substance

 Do you think I can actually write, dance or sing? Do you think I can write something of substance without resorting to a trick or a gimmick. I say I already have, I name a few. But you don't agree. You think you have the upper hand on me. If you forget as I lay in slumber and in my final resting state. I will remain confident that I am living metaphysically. Perhaps, in Delphi, where I once visited the epidaurus. Or Agia Sophia. Or in Chicago, in Berlin Nightclub. Maybe my favorite restaurants and dinners where I would eat pizza or dipped Italian beef sandwiches. My favorite is filet mignon and bacon baked potato. Probably in my mother's garden that I used to water. Or my father's bakery. Or New York city where I have roots. Perhaps I will be condensation or exhalation from my lifeless corpse or I will be the full of life as the stars in the sky. The never dies. I will fall from the sky to Earth in such a manner. Or I will be in a box under the earth with ants and worms eating at my flesh. Smelling of decay. I will travel to heaven or hell. This life can be the later at times. Perhaps I will return as a butterfly or a hummingbird. I'm not saying that I would. I'm not saying I'm going to. But I remember when I played in the dirt. And the sand. And when I felt the water healing my aching body. I remember the people that I hold close to me. I no longer as for you to remember me. As long as you think of me fondly, as a sweet person. This is not a suicide letter. I don't believe in suicide. This is a letter to the living. I've been kind and I know. You want to try writing but you can't let go. Lose your inhibitions. And let down your guard. I'll take you to my favorite memory as a child. In Greece on vacation, on my Namesday. Which happens to be the feast day of the Virgin Mother. I got lost in my father's village. The streets were paved with varieties of colorful flowers. I put them in my hair and wore them as a crown or tiara. I arrived to the church in the village. Where I stared at the stained glass windows. I walked inside and I felt as if I was home. People were unsure if I was a boy or girl. I felt powerful. I made my way to my grandparents house and I was greeted my family. They welcomed me. And I felt comforted. That's how I want you to think of me or think of me. That's enough for me.