Anna- you are the only truth I know.

To Anna,
the only person I have ever really loved.
Loved in the loftiest sense of the word. As in
Anna- the only person I have ever been able to be
“in love” with. Which is a serious feat being that it is a concept
that I don't believe, encourage or participate in.

Oh Anna! I am in mourning. Ingmar Bergman is dead!
You are too concerned with the polarization of atoms
and the pursuit of black holes and big bang theories
to know who this is, but know that his death is enough
to break my already weak-willed spirit.

Ingmar Bergman is my favorite. director. of all. time.
I was to be his favorite actress. The only actress that could artfully portray the
poor man's existential angst with any poetic justice. And he was the only director
that would allow me to show and discover the fullness of my capabilities in my chosen art of acting.

Oh Anna! I will see you soon, and everything will be okay.
You are my favorite crutch.
Did I tell you I met a man? Time will only tell
if we can transcend ourselves enough to see beyond our own noses. Time will only tell if we can sit nose to nose long enough to forget we exist. But I feel promise in my knees. And I'm hoping that it's not me being punch-drunk from raging hormones or sick from drinking 1000 cups of coffee in one day. It would so be like me to confuse soul mates with diarrhea.

Are you happy my dear? I would give anything for you to be happy. I can't hardly ever handle seeing your watery eyes filled with any emotion other than happiness.

Why do we spiral in such destructive circles as to recreationally knock love out of our gravitational pull? When did our revolutions get lost in our apathy? I can no longer even envision the revolution. Perhaps you are right, perhaps it is not art that is the key. Perhaps it is science, in which case every ounce of my hope for the future rests on your shoulders. Bohemia is dead! Love is dead! God is dead! Logic is dead.

All we have is each other. Grab on to the ones that are luck enough to have the good sense to love you. Hold their hands until we can outlive the moderns age's apathy.

But I have a secret. For you only my dear. There is a glimpse of hope.

There is still magic. Magic is alive!! ... somewhere. Everything else may be dead. But somewhere the magic is still there. We cannot destroy it. Do not ask me how I know this because I don't know. But I do know because I have these moments where I can just stare it in the eye. It is there, we just forgot how to.. tune in. Like how our ears are not sophisticated enough to hear all the notes of a meadow larks song. Or we can't see with the naked eye what ultraviolet looks like. But magic is here, and it always will be. And I am putting all my pennies on it, it will get us through this horrific age. When science fails us, when love fails us and art. We must remember only to squint hard enough to see it. It will always be there winking back at us, grinning like a Cheshire cat. Anna my dear, we are all we have.

Connect nothing! We are a part of a necklace of incomparable beauty and unmeaning*

Anna my dear, it is magic that has carried us this far. It is magic that has brought us together. And it is magic that will keep us together. You are the only truth I know. You are the only truth I know! My dear and I hope my sporadic lines of thinking, broken thoughts and misspellings do not ever distract you from that.

Fanastically! And always! And for the rest of my conciousness and yours and the eternal. I love you.

Amy

*Leonard Cohen from the book Beautiful Losers