dear r,

i feel all of this hope, this life. but i'm not sure where to put it, where to hide it. and why should i?

the lights in the city speak to me of a different past. one that i tried on like flimsy socks, the kind that move around and don't fit quite right. i am terrified of the strength of how i felt for this past, i am terrified of the oceans of fear that ruled me and gave way to undertows of ruin. perhaps our tenderness would have been enough, perhaps our pieces whole.

is shallow better because it hurts less, or allows fewer unknowns to lurk inside of it?

i will publish the letter one day, but until then, i believe in you to make it real.

with tentative love but certain light,
rose