Letter #2


I know you find it hard to talk about emotions, so I’m writing you a letter. You can just … ignore it or respond however you like.

I’m not trying to manipulate you or anything like that. I know I said some things that really hurt you, actually, and I’m sorry. I’m beyond sorry. I … if you want me to go away, I will.

I love you. I know that kind of scares you. I don’t expect you to return it. But when — they — had me, that was all I had to hold on to. The people I love. I don’t know what they drugged me with, but I couldn’t reach out. Every sense felt like it was wrapped in cotton.

And you came, and saved me when I couldn’t save myself.

So thank you. I … this is all incoherent, because I’ve literally been trying to think what to say for weeks now. I don’t even know what you want me to say. What you might need to hear from me.

Just try to tell me, and I will say it.

With love, Summer

[the letter is sealed with red wax marked with a feline pawprint, still warm, and smells faintly of fire]