Dear You (Essay)

I don’t long to have your money and wealth.

It costs too much.

You can offer me nothing that matches the worth of my time. My time my life, and there is no life on Earth outside of time.

I’d rather have love and life ahead than trade them for your “fortune”.

Your currency is of little worth to me, ultimately. Your wealth starves the Earth and its creatures, including me.

The carrot you dangle perpetually before our eyes is but a robbery in progress. By the time we’ve tasted, we’ve already forfeited all we have.

You’re crafty, I’ll admit to you. But you’re sad.

Deeply you feel your sadness. You can’t escape it, and it haunts you.

Instead, you strive to fill the halls of your luxurious fortress with more of the souls of those who would be lured by you.

…and your distractions.

When those halls grow somber and silent, you engulf yourself with vices and fleeting pleasures. They make you feel as though you’ve purchased joy.

But even you know, as vigorously as you deny it, you sold your joy and laughter ages ago.

In fact, they were stolen from you…

In fact, the great fortress you now consider home was just the residence of the one who captivated you, and the allurer before them.

…all of whom quietly died long before their final breaths.

I will not go with you.

I understand that all of life is at stake.

How I wish you had chosen differently.

There’s still time for you. There’s still a choice, as long as there’s air in your lungs and signs of life in your limbs.

But I’ve chosen to live.

…and to live, I’ve found, is to love and to be content.

In the possessing of nothing at all, I’ve gained all I’ll ever need.

I only wish the same for you.

Take care.

It's quite lonely at the top, the most terrible kind of lonely there is.



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Arnell Darden

Chronic daydreamer. Sky admirer. Indie film enthusiast. Psychology buff. Poet/poem. Creator/creation. A million things in a world that only dreamt for me a few.