07/27/24

This letter may be a bit shorter than usual. I've been so, so tired. I miss you more than anything. It's overwhelming.

If I didn't have my memories of you, I think I'd be dead by now. I'm sorry for rotting in bed. I wish I could be someone you could be proud of.

I find when I write, things I'm thinking of are what I end up writing, Instead of what I mean to say. It's how I know I'm not fully better. I forget connecting words. I lose motivation for days at a time. But I'll fight. For you.

I'm thinking of leaving you more, like poems I like, or stickers, or drawings. Maybe I should! It'd be more I can show you, more that we can (one day) talk about.

I think I'll leave you one on the next page. Transcribing hurts my fingers, but it's ok!

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07/27/24 (pt 2!)

The Side Effects of Eating Too Many Clementines, by Alessia Di Cesare.

There are boxes of clementines

in the kitchen and the thing is that

I love you again. The thing is that

I love what orange tastes like so

I eat too much of it and end up sick.

Last year, I brought up questions

about mending after loss

and all orange could bring was

eye spasms and stomach aches.

But now the only pain left is left

in rinds, and there are plenty of ways

to remove it from the heart.

I won’t do it, though. Instead, I will

mock the break with more breaking

and eat all the clementines again.

I only say “again” because

I don’t know how to say

I never stopped.