Jacobs Well, Queensland
I find that my thoughts have turned to you this day. So, I put pen to paper, but I must not delay! For even now, as I recall those bygone years, an ancient ghost, it re-appears. A spirit thing, it is of mist. It is just one’s own fears then which we must resist!
You are such a gentle soul, but truth be told, with a life on hold. It’s hard to fly with clipped wing, when a dream is a broken thing. It’s hard to walk and yet not stand, still not released of the quickened sand. It’s hard to heal from that which is got, from before memory even, it of the cot.
Still! Such talent there, wish I … that I might see such, without despair.
For all those years, and of the lies, for delivered tears, by a demon in ’guise, I’ll tell it yet, and yet again, from such as this, we must ascend. They of the doing, they of such wrongs, they are pursuing in the belief that they’ll be strong. They do not receive of that for which they seek, for no true power is ever given to those so weak.
If point ten of zero was the measure of it when at its most, what then is left of this would be hero, who is now but a ghost?
Your talents were not born of misery, let them rise far beyond it now, to embrace a destiny. It is towards this end, I now you advise. It is not to forget, and yet to still rise. For we cannot serve, but that we too are served. There is no such thing as the undeserved. It is all in the how, with others we deal, then through this and by this, we ourselves do heal.
Your baby brother,
The cute one,
Not the other.
Bio: David says that this was originally written as a letter for his sisters, however, he would now like to dedicate it to all women who were raised in a home with an abusive male relative