I just wanted you to know that it’s been a year since you went from being my whole world to being just another pin in my atlas. And I’m doing fine, the chords running through my life are now laced with gold, not soot.
It’s been a year and I hope you’re okay, and that you’ve been able to scrape the ash off your hands.
I hope you rediscovered your softness.
I hope when you think of me, that your thoughts have no sharp edges.