A much-folded and faded letter was found among the personal papers of Professor Howard Rice after his death in 1936. The contents, more than a little puzzling and troubling, are presented here unedited for your review.
June, 17th, 1908.
My Dear Friend Howard,
I am writing to you, from my room at the Kempler Arms, a run-down inn located in the God-forsaken port of Rockfish Harbor, North Carolina. I have just drank the contents of a bottle of brandy in the vain attempt to calm my nerves enough that I may commit the events of the last few days to paper before I collapse into much needed slumber.
I came here, as you may recall, to study the l
sometimes i want to feel happy as same as time feels ticks.
but there is no happy when i don't feel lonely.
that there is some bees waiting flower perfectly bloom patiently
that there is water flowing safe and sound alongside courtyard
thankyou for the loneliness for giving me space
and ready to accept what is so called happiness