Hello page, my dearly beloved friend. I’ve abandoned you for a while and i’m sorry for that. I know that the pen has dust on it. I can’t remember the last time I picked it up, and for that, I am regretful.
How have you been?
I’m writing because I have a secret to tell you. My pain and insecurities grab me by the throat sometimes and strangle me until I beg for breath. They torture me and tell me lies.
They told me that our relationship will never make it. That we can’t speak to each other anymore. And for a while, I listened to them. I listened to the poison that they fed me through every whisper. They made me believe that there was nothing that I could say to you that would make me feel better. That me and you were done. I tried to come back to you so many times because I missed you, but I was convinced that there was no getting past the barrier of meeting with you again. That there was nothing more to be said. But oh, how I was wrong.
I think that i’m beginning to realise that no matter what happens, you run through my bloodstream. I will fight any battle to make sure that I am with you again. You understand me in a way that I don’t even understand myself. You are the mirror that I look into and walk away from regaining strength and wisdom. You are my first love, from the age of 3. You have moulded me into who I am. You have taught me patience, determination, pain, my sense of humour, my imagination, my passions, my likes, my dislikes, my integrity. You remind me that it’s okay to have an opinion and to be who I want to be. That regardless of stigma or stereotypes, it’s okay to be myself.
I can tell you anything.
So I know that I left you. And I can’t promise that i’ll never leave again. But I can promise you that I will always come back… I’ll come back to the window of the warm coffee shop whilst rain trickles on the glass. I’ll come back for the romantic couple that fall in love when their eyes meet and the for the heartbroken. I’ll come back for the mental health thoughts that fill brains with fear and I’ll come back for the grieving. I’ll come back for the elderly who are reminiscing their youth and for the people that don’t quite fit in. I’ll come back for the sunrise and the trees dancing in the wind. I’ll come back for the breeze blowing somebodies hair through an open car window and for the taste of one last kiss.
I will always greet storylines with grace and decorum and bring them into the centre of your palm, somehow. Because that’s what we do. We make magic and nothing can ever stop that.