A General Theory of Oblivion

LAST WORDS

I write feeling my way through the letters. An odd experience, as I cannot read what I have written. Therefore, I am not writing for myself.

For whom am I writing?

I am writing for the person I used to be. Perhaps the person I once left behind persists, standing there, still and grim, in some attic of time — on a bend, at a crossroads — and in some mysterious way she is able to read the lines I am setting out here, without seeing them.

Ludo, my dear: I am happy now.

Blind as I am, I see better than you. I weep for your blindness, for your infinite stupidity. It would have been so easy for you to open the door, so easy for you to go into the street and embrace life. I see you peering out of the window, terrified, like a child peeping under the bed expecting to find monsters.

Monsters, show me the monsters: these people out on the street.

My people.

I’m so sorry for everything you’ve missed.

So sorry.

But isn’t unhappy humanity just like you?