dear stranger-

1

I wrote you a letter on Wednesday night; I scratched ink into paper by the light of the moon, and carefully slid the notepaper into a slice-of-sky envelope. I folded it shut, I licked the stamp, and I loved you so much that I slept through the alarm next morning and forgot to post your letter.2

Thursday faces blurred past me, past the windows, past the buildings; a wild vortex of silent secrets, suppressed, until I was numb with the thought of so many strangers' stories that I could never know. I was sitting, soundlessly breathing, like the eye of everyone's storm, and I looked up, trying to find a little piece of you in all those strangers' eyes. I don't know what I found.3

Friday, I had your letter with me; it sat flat in the diary I carried with me, but I forgot to make time to find a postbox. I guess that just goes to show how hectic life can get, and how easily we leave things behind. Forget things. Just absentmindedly let their loveliness float away from our thoughts. You don't notice it at first, but after a while you realise you're so much emptier than you used to be, so much colder. Naked, almost. And you can't think why you let yourself lose grip of the things that mattered so much. It doesn't make sense at all.4

On Saturday, I got to the shopping centre before I realised I didn't have your letter with me. I was stupid enough to make the assumption that the letter would be in my bag, that the sun would wake me every morning, that your hand would somehow find its way back to mine. I have to stop presuming things; nothing is dependable, nothing is certain, nothing is sensible.5

On Sunday, I remembered to bring your letter with me, but I didn't get time to drop it off at a post box, so your letter was pressed between the front cover of my Bible and Genesis 1:1 all day. It was my delicate secret; I had a slice of sky in my bag, and the old lady next to me didn't even blink. I don't think she even knew. It made me wonder what beautiful secrets she had hidden in her oversized leather handbag. I smiled for her, but she still didn't blink.6

On Monday, I bounced out of bed early; it was a muddled hunt for the alarm because I had hid it for myself the night before. An early morning treasure hunt does wonders for you, really. I quickly tucked your letter into my bra where I wouldn't forget it, and made pancakes for breakfast. You weren't around to pile cream onto my plate, but I still thought of you as I chewed each mouthful. I couldn't really forget you when your letter crinkled against my skin every time I breathed. I made sure I wouldn't forget you. I wouldn't forget you, not this time.7

On my way down the street I stopped at the postbox, where for a moment I just stood there with your letter against my heart. At 8:33 am I grinned as I let your letter fall out of my hands, away from me, into the depths of that red-painted box.8

I hope you're warm. I hope you're safe. Your letter was never lonely, m'dear, but I can't help wondering how things could have turned out differently. If I posted it on time, if the moon wasn't awake to keep me company that night, if you never met me in dreams, or if I never existed, never had that space I wanted you to fill. Things could have been so different, but I don't think I'd change a thing.9

I await your reply, and I hope your slice of sky is just as blue as mine.10

xx11