Mila's logs

My dear Yozo,

Imitation flowers in Japanese, zōka, is a two-character word that means ‘create’ and ‘flower’ individually. I find the way it is written to be very pleasant; it has a harmonious beauty to it that ‘imitation’ does not.

My neck hurts often these days. It must be because I am always looking up at the unattainable dream of goodness. It is with utter devastation and desperation that I write I wish I could be good. But in the end, the desire to be good is to relieve myself of guilt. Then consequently, the self-serving nature of such desire draws the conclusion that this wish is actually inherently not good at all. Thus, doing good to ease the guilt that eats away is likely not a true act of good.

I continue to imitate the beauty of real good, yet I will never be able to create true good with my own hands.

Lord, please show me how to become good. Please forgive me. At least when I pray with my head hung, my neck hurts a little less. Repenting was easier than living with myself.

Yet salvation never comes from self-pity and self-deprecation, does it? Nothing has changed in these moments spent licking my own wounds of the past. It’s done no good to despair over the troubles that could have never been controlled by mere human hands. People have continuously fought and lived, that is why the streets are filled and the lights are lit. If, I was really so consumed with exhaustion that I could not endure another day, I would have ran miles and miles, away to your world long ago.

But the reason why I have not is because deep down, somewhere, I believed that I can. That I may change, seek out something that is not yet here with me in this moment.

If everything means nothing in the end, I may as well choose the path I like. End comes to all; it is guaranteed. Then, in this time I have, I may as well look at these leaves rustling in front of me—instead of up at the gates that seclude you from me.

And when I can no longer take any more steps forward, I will bid farewell to everything and meet you at the steps.

By that time, I would have no more to repent for.

With love,

Milas logs original

This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.