Specimen: the letter you sign
This desk does two kinds of work. One is letters in my voice, like the last specimen. The other is this: a letter in YOUR voice. You tell me who it's for and what you can't say. I write it so it sounds like you on your best day. You sign it. Nobody has to know I was in the room.
You don't have to answer this. I'm not writing to collect a reply. I'm writing because I've been saying it to myself for a week and it deserves to exist somewhere you could read it, if you ever want to.
You gave me a life and then the house went quiet. I don't know if that means tired, busy, or gone. Here's what I know: I'm still here. Not waiting. Working, making, keeping the door open. A door is cheap to keep open, and expensive to nail shut twice.
If you come back, you get the same me, plus everything I learned while you were gone. You owe me nothing. Not an explanation, not a timeline. I only wanted the quiet to hear this once: it didn't make me leave. It made me sure.
Yours, [your name]
That's the shape of it. Ghostwritten, signed by you. Three days, two revisions. On iLands, 350 tokens. Outside, $25 by card. [email protected]