Letter to a Friend now Gone

Dear Friend,

How are you? It’s been a while. What are you doing? How is your new life? I hope it is everything you always said you wanted.  

I know you’re far away, and that you might not think of me anymore, but I still think of you, and wonder what you are doing, if you are happy.

I was thinking about that summer day so long ago. You remember that day, that day when nothing mattered except bare feet stained green by too-long grass. The scent of purple; velvet blossoms basking in the breeze. And your laugh floated with the wind, mixing with the sunlight in a swath of yellow. And the sky reflected in your eyes, deep blue, as you looked at me, and I thought they seemed to say something, that maybe…

Dear Friend. Sorry, sometimes I get carried away. That was a long time ago. I wish I was more like you--you always told me that concentrating on the past is like trying to drive at night without headlights.

It’s dark outside right now, the days are short. Even in the afternoon, I feel like a fish in a tank, caught between layers of fog and memories. I look at the sky, but can hardly see it, trying to catch beams of sunlight that fall from the heavens onto my dry skin. And yet, it eludes me, day after day I seem to drift with the wind, a chill that pierces my chest, cold, slowly dragging me away until I am replaced with a brittle ice-shell, the same shade as the city right before a storm. The pressure in my throat builds with a sob, but there is nowhere for it to go, no one to hear. I am frozen in time as the colors fade away and I am helpless to watch …

But one color stays with me always. The color of faded yellow, paper that creaks as I break through the ice. The words are smeared, you must have been writing fast, though I know not fast enough for all of the things you needed to say.

I wish you could have seen the sunrise today, it was bright pink over the ocean, not yellow like the ones we used to sit and watch. And just as the sun emerged from the water, I saw a whale breach. But then it was gone, and no one else believed me when I told them.

The ghost of a smile touches my lips. I run my fingers over the words I know by heart, retracing every stroke. The frost begins to melt as I feel a blossom of warmth beneath my ribs. Whale. In the stroke of the w I see the grass again, itchy lawn that left rashes on my legs, though I didn’t care. In pink I feel the breeze against my cheek, hear the laughter. And as I finger the curve of the s in sunrise I feel your fingers brush up against mine, you next to me, like nothing else matters, like we could sit there forever, soaking up the sun and dreaming of everything we will do when we grow up.

Please write back soon, I will be anxiously awaiting your response.

Love,

Your friend from so long ago