Dear M.

02.02.2018

Dear M.,
Oh, the things I could say about you that night.
I could tell you that I felt whole, a hundred pieces finally together for just a second in time.
I could tell you that I walked in afraid and cracked and limping, limping towards a finish line that I'm not sure exists anymore.
I could tell you that I wished I'd jumped the railing, fallen into the crowd, fallen to the front, and gotten lost in the bodies at my back, the shoulders pressed against mine, the voices propelling mine with theirs until the ceiling shook.
I could tell you that I let you heal me on your own, in your own small way.
I could tell you that I finally, finally, tipped my head back to the sky and opened my caged heart and shaking hands to you. I could tell you I said, "'Help me let this go.'"
I could tell you that I am afraid of the moments where you are gone, and I am left, alone, wandering, in my silence, my remnants, and even words in the dark aren't enough of a lantern.
I could tell you that blessedly, blessedly, my feet are half-tethered to the earth now. I could tell you that I finally feel a shred of light.
I could tell you that I laughed and I cried and I worshipped and I discovered, recklessly blessed and utterly boundless, "I am happy."
I could tell you a thousand things, a million words black on paper, but it is not enough.

So, instead, just this:

Thank you.