Suicide Lane Cafe

Letters to Denver

...and you must know, darling, that I forgive you. You who tallied stretch marks into reasons why nobody would want to get close, you who gets up at five every morning to do her hair just right. I forgive you because I know you're afraid, I know you've been betrayed even by the rain you love so much that turns your mother's ring into rust. I forgive you for the cruel diets and harsh friends. We are perishable goods, love, but your mouth and your hands and your heart was made for loving. Let me love you.