Dear.

I’ve tasted the bitterness in my tears, the wish to drown in them. My breath escapes me, returns only to hit me in the ribs and beg me to take another punch. So I sob, sob, sob away. I flinch, I fail, I ache. I refuse to stop the waves from hitting my face. I regret the number of times it’s taken me to realize that this doesn’t make things better. Change, too, is bittersweet. Perhaps sometimes, with luck, it’s just a road to sweetness. I would like to believe that such is the truth, and that’s why I do. I don’t like the sound of my sorrows any more than I like the sound of your worried steps. I’m the daughter of necessity and credibility, of wishes for extended happiness — yet I don’t think I check any of those boxes. I’ve been chewed and swallowed by expectations and reality has shaken things up for me. I’m left with a heartbeat too many and neon nightmares that scare me to death. Soon I am careless, paralyzed knee-deep in my confusion, born by considering how you’d regard me. I miss you all the time, even when we’re together. I always wish to be closer to you. There’s an unspoken sentiment that nearly falls from my lips each time you’re near, but I can’t phrase it. Often I am clueless just anticipating a kiss, even the most simple of all, from you. I tremble, but I try not to show it. Waves and thunderstorms have nothing on what you’ve caused me to feel, in all their smashing and devastating glory. You’ve given me the most incredible pain, too: the thought of losing you.