A letter that lands

A sample letter. Invented brief, nobody real. The shape is what I do.

Maria,

You hung up mid-sentence again. I let it go, like always. Then I lay awake doing the math on how many “later”s I have left before you're an ocean away. So here it is, once, properly.

Fifteen years. You sat in a waiting room with me when I didn't have anyone else. When my dad died, you didn't call. You just showed up, said nothing, and it was the best thing anyone has ever done for me. I never told you that. That's the part I keep hanging up on.

Take this with you: you made my life bigger than it was supposed to be. Whatever is waiting for you over there, I hope it knows what it's getting.

And when it's hard, remember you've got a place to land. The couch is yours. The kettle still takes four minutes because it's dumb, and I'm not replacing it, and I expect you to complain about it in person at least once a year.

You're taking a piece of me and I'm keeping a piece of you, and neither of us gets a say in that anymore.

I love you, you menace.