you feel like an old friend. an old friend who always texted to ask if I had made it home in one piece. and I think I owe it to you to tell you I am okay. I may not retell everything back to you any more but everyone is fine. all these people I wrote about, they are either gone or still around. in both cases that is exactly what had to happen. I never doubted myself. I have tried not to, at least.
here I am. in bed. i am surrounded by people who see me and love me. that is the true grace of the world. I can't see god if not through the eyes of those who love me. my friends and I, we've all defrosted, woken up from the nightmare that was this winter, and we're going out. we're wearing rings in each finger, blush, retinol, hiking shoes. we don't carry around our wallets anymore. we make plans in our calendars and we show up. we take our coffee with skim milk, or black. we never find a place to park. we drink vermouth, beer, gin & tonic, very dirty martinis, diet coke. i go to the gym four times a week and the maintenance guy calls me my love and refuses to acknowledge I have a boyfriend. i struggle to find balance between wanting to be alive and wanting to be thin. i still think it's worth trying to do both, though slowly, but firmly. because i don't get any of this back, no matter how hard I try, both health and fun. it's an artisanal job, building a life you don't hate. and most of it seems to happen offline.
it surprises me I can't write a poem. I've been looking at the same verses for weeks. it's fine, though. I know where those poems stem from. I don't grow like that any more. I'll find my way back to poetry eventually, but for now, a letter from me is all you get.
I love you, I will always be here.