Letter 72

Dear You,

I drove in silence. The stretch of earth to the West was gray and wet. I smiled as thoughts of you and I reeled through my head. I can’t believe I never wrote about the night in the desert. The clouds moving in such an incredible way, mesmerized. The old man in the car that I thought was going to kill us, only to tell us where to find more wood.

Once the sun went down, I was barefoot on some other planet. The glowing green water. That night I felt like a ballerina again. You guarded the fire so intently with axe in hand. I’ll never forget the way the warmth reflected off of your face. The lays potato chips had their own chair. It will always be the night we laughed so hard I thought we might die. Clothes lined when I heard the words you thought I said.

“My grandma was really into Heelies”

That isn’t what I said, but it didn’t matter. We laughed in the sand for what felt like hours. Convinced I’d lose my job because I couldn’t stop laughing, in physical pain. It was perfect.

I smiled and cried the whole way home tonight, thinking about it. The way you held my hand on the way out there, gripping it tight, as the Growlers sang out. “Worry’s a bully that just won’t let me be”…

I’m trying not to worry about the flame, that you protected that night, for me, it’s still burning bright.

Love, me