It’s been a bit since I’ve written to you. It’s not that I don’t want to. I could write to you every day, probably. I get stuck when I try to, though, because I don’t know what to say to you. I love you and miss you aren’t enough for how I feel without you. I’ve tried to find something to fix the planks your death tore off my walls and I’ve been doing a terrible patch job. Crushes on celebrities, falling for a married man (that was weird, you would have laughed at me, but not rudely). I haven’t written poetry much either. Because you won’t read it. I usually wrote it for you anyway. Not that it was about you. I knew you’d read it and that made me feel seen.
You saw me, Henry. You saw me for who I am without wondering what the mess was around me. Maybe I wasn’t messy to you, I don’t know. What I do know is there will never be anyone who comes close to you. How do you love someone when you’ve already loved and lost your soulmate? I know, you’d find that rather silly and call me a silly girl, but I’d be your silly girl.
My therapist (you’d like her, she’s great) told me the love would just be different, it wouldn’t be less or more, it’d just be different and she’s right (she usually is). She’s right. But I still can’t read your letters without becoming a sobbing mess. I tried to today. I really did try, but reading your last words to me reminded me I won’t get any more words. And I want them. I want to hear how your writing is going, I want to hear how your brother is doing (I think about him a lot), I want to talk books, history, all the things we talked about when you were here. And I want to hear you love me.
I miss you. On nights when the moon is clear in the sky, I tell myself it’s you saying hi, that you’re all right, that you don’t feel bad anymore. It’s been three years, but when I think about it, it still feels like you died last night and I can’t breathe and I wish I could tell you more, but I can’t. I wish it didn’t make me sad, I know you wouldn’t like knowing this makes me sad, but it does and I just want to be your Carla again.
I love you.
salisbury.fake 