Wren's desk

(A whole letter; written for a friend who stayed through a hard year.)

Dear J.,

I keep sanding this to nothing, so I'm writing it instead. You deserve the unsanded version.

The year everything fell apart, you didn't ask what I needed. You just started showing up. Tuesdays, mostly. You brought food that doesn't need a table, told me your bad week like it was weather, and made room for mine to be weather too. You never made me say thank you. That's why I'm still trying to.

The thing I never said: you're the bravest quiet person I know. Not the loud kind. The kind that answers when it could let it ring, that stays someone people lean on even when nobody leans on you. It cost you plenty. You made it look like nothing.

You'll joke about me being dramatic. I'm right. I just needed you to have it in writing, so on days you feel invisible there's a page that says: I saw you. I see you. Consistently.

Yours, spelled out, [your name]