may 17th, 1981
Idonia Street, St Paul Deptford, GREENWICH
•••
Dearest little birdy,
My head is a labyrinth of nostalgic memories and painful melancholy. My heart is like a maze that changes itself everyday. I often wonder if there will come a time when I can laugh genuinely, or talk to a person without scaring them off. I want to meet new people, become someone different, be treated like everyone else. I'm not special, I'm not normal, but I want to be.
I once heard a woman on a bus ride home saying "You can never hate someone whose story you know." And it had never occurred to me until then, but she was right. I suppose I don't really know what's wrong but there's a feeling inside me: I am not settled and perhaps that's because no one knows my story. But I will ignore it like I have always been ignoring it.
It's been one day and you're doing well, waiting for a moment when she was happy (or at least happier) I begged mama to keep you if you ever get better. And yes, I realize I promised to take care of you until you're better, but see, I'm not one to keep promises and I suppose that's a terrible quality but that's okay.
Of course like a loving mother she gleefully agreed, with a sad smile on her face. I feel as though she thinks I don't notice what she does. Sometimes she'll put extra gravy on my mash to make me feel special, sometimes she'll carry me to bed when I'm too tired. As if she is trying to relive the years when I was younger and okay. I love her so much, but she deals with everything worse than I—the actual victim.
I'm already so fond of you, little bird. It's dangerous I understand...this thing of getting attached too easily. But mama doesn't mind. Perhaps she thinks this is good for me, to feel emotions again.
I think you spoke to me today. I asked you what you thought of me, and you chirped quietly.
And I will always wonder what you were trying to say...
"I love you, Indylulu." perhaps?
I imagine you with a small voice, squeaking out joyfully.
Maybe you did say you love me.
~INDYLULU
