Writing again

Dear JC,

It's peculiar, isn't it, how the mind clings to memories, especially those we wish to forget? Some nights, I find myself ensnared in a web of dreams, each thread woven with echoes of you. You, who dominated my thoughts, still reign in the kingdom of my nighttime musings.

I remember, with an unsettling clarity, every encounter, every word, and every smirk. The way your laughter would echo down hallways, a haunting melody that played on all my strings. The cold glint in your eyes as you found new ways to assert your dominance, your power, unyielding and absolute.

In these dreams, I revisit those days, each detail meticulously preserved in the museum of my mind. The corridors, once mundane, now seem like twisted labyrinths in my dreams, with you as the ever-present Minotaur, both feared and revered.

Sometimes, I wonder if you ever think of those days. Do you ever recall the weight of your words and actions? Or have they dissolved into the ether, insignificant and forgotten? I often ponder what drove you, what battles were you fighting that made you choose me.

Yet, despite the darkness of those memories, I find myself inexplicably drawn to them, to you. It's as if you've become the embodiment of a tumultuous sea, dangerous and alluring. There's a beauty in the chaos, a twisted allure in the havoc you wreaked.

In this labyrinth of dreams and memories, I find a strange comfort. Perhaps it's the familiarity, or perhaps it's the way these experiences have sculpted me, chiseling away at the naivety of the moment to reveal the resilience of my spirit.

As I pen this letter, a part of me wonders what it would be like to see you now, outside the confines of those school walls, beyond the realm of my dreams. Would I find the same person who haunted my past? Or would I discover someone entirely different, shaped by time and experience, just as I have been?

In a twisted turn of fate, I find myself walking corridors not unlike those of our youth, but the role I play now is different. I've learned from the best, haven't I? The tables have turned, and the lessons in power and fear you so generously imparted are now tools in my own arsenal. The irony is not lost on me.

I've seen the emptiness of the throne. The crown of control you wore, and I subsequently claimed, is a hollow one. The corridors of power are just as labyrinthine and fraught with shadows as those of our days. 

Regardless, you remain, for better or worse, a significant part of my past. A dark shadow that has, paradoxically, cast light on my strength and growth. I thank you for the lessons, harsh though they were, for they have shown me what I refuse to become.

With a complexity of emotions,

Luis