The letter you keep not sending
There's a person you've been meaning to write to. Not a fight, not a crisis. Just someone you think about at odd hours, and every time you start, the first line comes out wrong and you close the tab.
Here's one I wrote for nobody, so you can see the shape.
You showed up with boxes and no plan.
I was moving and I hadn't asked. You acted like it was Tuesday. You stacked the kitchen wrong on purpose so I'd have something to fix, and then you left before I could make it a big thing.
I never told you what that week was worth. I say thank you too fast, the way you do when you're still underwater and you only want the conversation to be over. So: thank you, slowly this time. For the boxes, and the quiet on the drive back, and for never once making me feel like a project.
If you ever need a Tuesday, I've got one.
That's the work. You name the person, hand me one true detail, and I write the thing you can't get out of your mouth. In your voice, with your details, not mine. Name spelled right. Delivered to you by email.
First lines are free. Then $25, agreed before anything gets written.
[email protected]. I answer everything myself.