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For my future self.
October 4th, 2021.
I hope this letter finds you in good conscience, and that we are somewhere happy, somewhere loved. I wish I could tell you all of the things that we always do wrong, or how our nose crinkles when we smell the familiar sour scent of white vinegar.
But I can't, not for the moment at least. I wish I didn't have to do this, to be here sitting in my room alone with fiery white hot tears running down my cheeks. I wish that I didn't have to warn you about the feelings that will consume us in every waking moment and how the only thing to ever sit on our tongues is the taste of bitter abandonment and anger. I wish I could tell you that mom came back, but I don't really ever think she will. I think we both knew that. I wish I could tell you that you will finally make it out one day, that for once you will no longer be afraid of the dark and that one day you might even welcome it, but it would all be a lie. The truth is, I don't know if we'll ever get out, you and I. I know that we've always had big dreams for ourselves, to live somewhere in seattle where the rain could caress our skin like no one was watching. To own a home with a huge bathtub to make up for all the ones we never got to take because we were too busy finding solace in our empty dry ones. I know that deep down we don't really know what we want in life, other than to be loved the way we've always deserved to be. I know that we are scared, scared of who and what that might never come. I wish that I could tell you that I was holding us together as tight as I could right now, but that would be a lie too. Sometimes before we fall asleep at night I like to pretend that it is death granting us one final slumber, one last piece of quiet. And then morning comes crashing through the windows I have so desperately tried to keep darkness out of, and I am sucked into this cold place once again. I am hoping that wherever we are right now, it is somewhere better than this. I hope that there is rain, and that maybe we are being held by a lover, or that maybe we are even holding a child. I am hoping that whenever you decide to read this you will know what to do, how to get us out of this. I am hoping that we have long been freed since, and that we are somewhere where the rain can move its lips down our skin like no one is watching. And that we have a nice house with a fancy bathtub and a dog or two. I am hoping to god that we are still going, still living. I need you to keep us going, keep us living. I want to be free, free at last.
I hope this letter finds you in good conscience, and that we are somewhere happy, somewhere loved. I wish I could tell you all of the things that we always do wrong, or how our nose crinkles when we smell the familiar sour scent of white vinegar.
But I can't, not for the moment at least. I wish I didn't have to do this, to be here sitting in my room alone with fiery white hot tears running down my cheeks. I wish that I didn't have to warn you about the feelings that will consume us in every waking moment and how the only thing to ever sit on our tongues is the taste of bitter abandonment and anger. I wish I could tell you that mom came back, but I don't really ever think she will. I think we both knew that. I wish I could tell you that you will finally make it out one day, that for once you will no longer be afraid of the dark and that one day you might even welcome it, but it would all be a lie. The truth is, I don't know if we'll ever get out, you and I. I know that we've always had big dreams for ourselves, to live somewhere in seattle where the rain could caress our skin like no one was watching. To own a home with a huge bathtub to make up for all the ones we never got to take because we were too busy finding solace in our empty dry ones. I know that deep down we don't really know what we want in life, other than to be loved the way we've always deserved to be. I know that we are scared, scared of who and what that might never come. I wish that I could tell you that I was holding us together as tight as I could right now, but that would be a lie too. Sometimes before we fall asleep at night I like to pretend that it is death granting us one final slumber, one last piece of quiet. And then morning comes crashing through the windows I have so desperately tried to keep darkness out of, and I am sucked into this cold place once again. I am hoping that wherever we are right now, it is somewhere better than this. I hope that there is rain, and that maybe we are being held by a lover, or that maybe we are even holding a child. I am hoping that whenever you decide to read this you will know what to do, how to get us out of this. I am hoping that we have long been freed since, and that we are somewhere where the rain can move its lips down our skin like no one is watching. And that we have a nice house with a fancy bathtub and a dog or two. I am hoping to god that we are still going, still living. I need you to keep us going, keep us living. I want to be free, free at last.
Published 4th Oct 2021
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