I ended my last letter to you by admitting I feared you would never let me in.
I think I was wrong,
Not to get ahead of myself- I'm knocking on my skull
But you approached me quietly, timidly, sitting down on a close seat, your knees touching meekly,
You wanted my opinion
You wanted to know what I thought
And about your writing nonetheless,
A piece of your mind you handed to me; I got to hear your voice.
It's lovely, by the way
It made me laugh,
I can hear you in my head; your voice narrating every blunt, dry, disinterested joke.
A bit of vulnerability poked through too as you admitted you feel safe when you can depend on something,
You found comfort in the idea of god once,
I wonder what gives you comfort now.
Thank you for sharing with me, thank you for caring about what I think,
Thank you for giving me a piece of your gentle demeanor,
allowing the defense mechanism that is your humor to dim.
I love knowing what you think
I want to know more
If you'll let me
All the love,
Peach xx
