Tuesday, January 20th, 2015
This letter may not be my last to you, but it no longer feels right or necessary to hold onto the pain. Things are looking up for me, and I need to look up with them. Seeing you, realizing that you're okay ... it has changed the route; you're back in the city and no longer anonymous. We do go to the same school, after all. I will keep writing, of course nothing could stunt that, but I need to address my letters to other things and open my eyes. For the first time in a long time I'm not so scared of what I see. At 21 years, I feel like the youngest adult: glad for the callouses I don't wear, the immaturities I still maintain, all the knowledge I don't possess, and the mistakes it's still okay for me to make. The skyscrapers and tenement buildings and everything between, the people rushing in and around them - I want to touch it all and hear its song - and thanks to you, I'm becoming less scared to grab at it. I'm still crawling now, but always moving towards a toddle.