This isn't Charlotte.

This is a new friend that I have made as of recent.  

I’m sad to say that Charlotte has vanished, all that’s left of her are the sparse cobwebs that were once the home that she lovingly spun above my bed.  The spider that once watched over us as we slept is gone, which pains me all the more to realize that you’re not here to hold me anymore and neither is she.  I don’t know where she went…  but it appears that she left shortly after you did.  

It was a couple days later that I discovered her missing.  I had something to tell her, I was happy to see her, all I wanted was to just look at her sleeping in the web and blow wishes at her.  The sight of this little life dangling above me comforted me in the simplest and most innocent way.  However, when I stood on my bed to touch the ceiling and look for her, she wasn’t there.  Her absence broke my heart.  I’m afraid also that if I look for her, I might find traces of you.  

There are other things that I wanted to tell you, too.  I wanted to tell you all the funny and disturbing and magical things that the ghosts whisper in my ear.  They have a lot to say.  (Our favorite holiday is coming up, you know!)  You seemed to be the only one who enjoyed hearing their secrets, it’s not the same with everybody else.  Most people are not always so understanding, however intrigued they may seem.  You know this well, and it goes without saying that the same sentiment holds true with most things.  

I am very much enjoying The Witches.  You were right, it is exactly like a story of my life.  I laughed when Roald Dahl said in the very beginning that “a REAL WITCH is easily the most dangerous of all the living creatures on earth.  What makes her doubly dangerous is the fact that she doesn’t look dangerous.  They all look like nice ladies.  For all you know, a witch may be living next door to you right now.  Or she might be the woman with the bright eyes who sat opposite you on the bus this morning.  She might be the lady with the dazzling smile who offered you a sweet from a white paper bag in the street before lunch.  She might even- and this will make you jump- she might even be your lovely schoolteacher who is reading these words to you at this very moment.  Look carefully at that teacher.  Perhaps she is smiling at the absurdity of such a suggestion.  Don’t let that put you off.  It could be part of her cleverness.”  

OF COURSE all of that is true!  I couldn’t believe the accuracy of such a description!  The only people who are able to discern a real witch are other real witches, of course.  Real witches hide in plain sight.  It is part of our cleverness.  

Hospice training is going as grandly as possible.  It seems as though my classmates get a kick out of me or are at the very least allured by me and my responses to the afterlife.  I know that we are entitled to our own beliefs (and it is a right to hold such beliefs sacred), however those who choose not to believe in anything frequently bemuse me with their silly questions.  Why they are all so afraid of death I will never understand.  I suppose they will be in for a surprise when they arrive themselves. 

I also don’t know what to do about this blog.  I’m aware that we both began this venture separately and years ago, well before we knew one another.  The tough part is that it reminds me of you no matter how hard I try.  It’s difficult spending too much time here, I’ve been avoiding it whenever possible.  The post that I made about the possibility of deleting it or at the very least abandoning it sparked an enormous retort.  Most are from followers who don’t typically comment or communicate with me, and I found that surprising.  It seems as though there exist those whom I have touched, my story and words have helped them, and my thoughts continue to help them.  I was feeling torn because I thought, “Well, I began using this blog for modeling and writing occasionally, however if the majority of people are just here for my boobs, I don’t want to do this any longer.”  That doesn’t seem to be the case.  Sure, I still believe that spending too much of your life on the internet may be a waste of time, and there are bigger, grander, more powerful causes to fully dedicate your time to…  However, I can’t feign those few real, close connections that I have made.  And isn’t that why I am here, to help people, to inspire them?  Isn’t this doing precisely that? 

Some things to ponder, at the very least.

I still haven’t read that letter you wrote me.  It is still hiding amongst F. Scott Fitzgerald’s words, right where you stopped reading.  I can’t look, I don’t want to.  I’m saving it for another time.  Maybe when I’m feeling strong enough to read, I will.  Perhaps I never will.  Perhaps I am hoping for something miraculous to happen.  I cling to this hope.  I don’t know what else to do.  Sometimes hope is all we can do.  Sometimes hope is enough.  

All this pain is for a purpose.  I know that we are both sad right now.  It’s going to take me a while to get over you…  I am reluctant to do so, and I wonder if it is even possible that I will be able to at all.  I am trying to get better, and I know that better will take time.  A lot of time.  I don’t expect this to be an easy journey alone, but I know that I will eventually arrive where I am supposed to be.  I know that I will find what I am looking for.  What’s more, I know that you will, too.  

And if we can’t surrender completely to happiness, I sincerely hope that we will find serendipitous traces of it scattered about our days apart, where we least expect it. 

(via leannabanana.com & bleedingfragments)