correspondence

8/1/15

To the girl whose real name doesn't matter,
 

You don't know me. Our paths have never criss-crossed across atlases or meandered through poetic prose on our way home to where ever it is we came from. We have never smoked cigarettes on rooftops together, or hung on threads suspended by the moon. You have never heard words from my lips and I have never traced your thoughts out loud in some random lines thrown together it what may or may not be poetry. I think it is... but some don't seem so sure.

 

I steal your words from you, my dear, and somehow try to become that chameleon you write about, blending into the background and changing with the tides so that maybe, life won't be so hard.

 

I don't know you. I don't know who you write about when you talk about the alcohol, but I wanted to let you know you're not alone. Everyone always thinks it's the addict who needs to be strong, when in reality, the caregiver is left just as broken. That's the bad thing about caring, sometimes... you get too involved until you are left with just the shadow of your inner selves as we search through our nightmares. 

 

Dream with me, you who consider yourself a 'daughter of Poseidon,' for we are part of that glitter-dusted galaxy you speak of and we are dreamers in a world of darkness. We shall fly to the moon, my love, leaving trails of ice and wisdom in the comet tails behind us. We will be that shooting star for someone in need of a wish, and we will grab onto each other's hope when we feel it slipping away. 

 

Ravenna, 

You are beautiful. We share the same survivor status and it can be easy to forget what makes us strong when what we tend to focus on is the pain. 

 

Sincerely, 

someone who wishes to know you.