Today I am to take my cue from the first word on page 29 of the nearest book, and write a letter inspired by this word. So to Tennessee Williams’ A Streetcar Named Desire I turn, and to the word ‘Chance’.
Tennessee.
Dear Chance,
I saw you lying there, dumped amidst a pile of the unwanted.
Once more you have fooled me. I am repeatedly bribed by your potential, so I persistently give you away, even when I should grip you tight between blood drained fingertips.
For years you have been masquerading – dressing yourself in beautiful gowns that are ill fitting. It is a clever facade, one of trust, of dogma and desire, but in reality you are a mere consequence of these; you are what we stoop to when we are longing for them instead.
I thought I’d spend a lifetime incessantly giving you away, but I shall be more frugal in spending your currency.
Sincerely,
Laura Gabrielle Feasey.
