Dear Tom,
Last time I wrote to you, I did so with an unbearable heaviness on my heart, a heaviness that kept pressing its weight further and further down my throat, claiming my body, inch by inch; my lungs, my heart, my legs, and those hands with which I am writing to you this letter at the moment, the hands that always helped me let go of my weight, that helped me scream metaphors at the sky when my mouth was choking on thorned letters; they, too, have fallen victim to the heaviness. It feels like forever, Tom, forever since I held a pen and didn't ache with every word that goes out of it. I have an urge to disintegrate my body, piece by piece, to understand. But I never can. So let me just tell you about the piece that has shown itself to me tonight. My longing. I long so much for the times I was lighter, for times when my heart found solace in the sky, or when the lyrics to my favourite songs used to make sense. Do you remember how much I cried when we heard Sleeping At Last's Saturn? You thought I was going mad; later on I told you how the line that went "How rare and beautiful it is to even exist" made me feel like someone held my heart between their hands and caressed it, how it sent fireworks roaming up and down my spine. You still thought I was mad, but you kissed me anyway. Now even as I write those words to you, it feels like I've already written them a thousand times. The light is leaving me, Tom. I am still trying not to use the past tense; how does one deal with the loss of the only thing that kept them hanging? I barely recognize myself these days; blank eyes, lifeless smile, empty words. All I want to do is detach from everything, and everyone. I am slipping away from my surroundings bit by bit, and it's not scaring me, it's comforting, but the loneliness isn't. Am I making any sense to you? Ironic, isn't it? A writer who can't describe how they feel. I'll stop here before you go mad. I miss you, I still remember the last time we met. The sun always seemed to follow you everywhere, hold on to your light, Tom.
Yours always.
