My friend, ¬ This work was going to be for us, now it is for you. I am sitting on my deck thinking about you and that I must somehow contact you because I've been going crazy for the past three days. Suddenly it seems like I am re-living the past. Remember, it was exactly the same last time, I was out and you were in. Suddenly everything becomes unimportant except that. Suddenly I find myself repeating aloud: I don't know what to do, I don't know what to do. ¬ I don't know what to do. But even that is not important. You are. And that you are trapped inside. And that you are in danger. And that you cannot speak. And that you've been violated in all these years. And I don't know any longer whether I am appropriating your pain, internalizing it, or merely observing it with the same unaffected, cold eyes that they have been, they who have oppressed and they who have been complacent. Suddenly I understand that silence and complacency are the same. We always said; silence is the sign of consent. We have all been silent, complacent, accepting. The streets of our country have been awfully empty of our lines and our voices. Remember? Our lines marching in miraculous unison and our voices raised in parallel lines? I don't know what to do; I can't reach you by phone either. I want to run out to the street and ask people if they know what I can do, what we should do, and the way to do it. Your mother picked up the phone last night. I froze. I didn't know what to say. What if they have arrested you? What if it is my fault? What if it has always been my fault? I've been going round this small circle for sixteen years. The more I go the more familiar the path becomes. Never changing, the same journey through pain, anger and guilt. Tearing pangs of anxiety and torrents of tear. I need to hear your voice. Now. ¬ You will not see this. We have not shared each other's cries or touched hands for sixteen years. People here say that friends are those who are there for you. What does this make us who've been absent? Shards of the glass bowl we were dreaming for our future. Threatening to anyone who comes near. You wanted me to pray for you. I buried god a long time ago. But I will pray tonight. I will hold in my hand the locket that holds a lock of my mother's hair, and pray to her soul to watch over you. Love,
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