Open Letter #1

Dear ——,

I live by a lake.

I’m not talking about any old, conjured-up-by-my-flowing-imagination lake, but an actual, honestly real lake. (See above) It’s right behind my house and its terribly beautiful from dusk until dawn and whatever time lies after. I stare at it sometimes, who wouldn’t? It’s… therapeutic, I suppose. Not in the way that clears my head, but in a way that makes my thoughts flow.

Because the world always seems to fall silent when they stand before a beautiful body of water. The thoughts it encourages are more depressing than most, but I take inspiration where I can, and if my muse likes it, who am I to deny her? Still, it’s disturbing how many times I’ve thought of letting the water take me—where? Well, I’m not quite sure, just—away.

The water isn’t a calm thing, as most lakes are depicted as. The wind is always disturbing it, and ducks and storks love to wander the grass. They’re annoying in the mornings when I haven’t had my coffee, and I curse them under my breath at times when I’m feeling particularly irritated. It’s haunting when the sky is gray and it rains and you can’t quite tell land apart from Heaven. (Not that I’m very religious, mind you, but it is a nice way of referring to the sky.)

Anyway, I’m losing the point of this.

I live by a lake.

My body loves the fresh air and my eyes appreciate the view, my mind, however, could do less with the disparaging thoughts. Or maybe it’s my outlook I need to change? Ten years from now, when I’ve finished college and I’ve moved from this place I call home, when I come back to see this lake I hope I can think something better than—

It’s terrible.

—N. Rinth


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