Letters Addressed To The Fire

Hey,

It’s been a while since I last met your eyes—right before breaking down in tears on the footpath, on a cold and sunny January day. Funny enough, it’s sunny again today, but no tears this time. It took me time to decide whether to put these words together or let them slip away. But since all my letters are written for the fire—why not? There are so many things you’d be proud of. I can almost hear your voice, telling me you never doubted my ability—though you’d also remind me to ask for that pay rise. I miss you saying that. There’s a chance, just over the horizon, that I might become the head of my department. Or maybe that’s just my anxiety spinning dreams. Either way, I’m covering for everyone and slowly making my way there—missing your encouragement along the way.

Guess what? I ran yesterday. Gosh, I don’t miss it - can you picture my eyes rolling here? My legs are useless today, and it was only 5km, just a warm-up for next Saturday. How did you do this daily? Missing our walks through Alexandra Palace, where you showed me your run path and we talked about pacing. Mine yesterday was 5’35—decent, isn't it? And while we’re on the health update: 31 days alcohol-free. I told you at the start you’d be proud of me. Five coffees and two teas a day—is that acceptable? I miss you telling me coffee’s no good for my anxiety.

I finished that series you told me about. Love Ruth, too. 

Finished the book as well, and now I’m deep into the sad, heavy one—halfway through. Missing your surprise book deliveries, the ones without notes inside. I need a new game to play. Went back to the old ones, and somehow, Batman got harder, don't understand why. On another note, I made a new Instagram account—my faceless pseudonym writer might just become famous. Keeping it private for now. You wouldn’t want to see it—I miss your writing.

Ah, I gave the plant away to someone who actually knows how to keep it alive. Learned some new chords, and I’ve been singing for the smaller plants at home. They look happier. No, it’s not Tay Tay. I can hear you saying "Good for them". Hate the fact that I've never played for you. Have I mentioned how many times I’ve lost my lip balm? I miss you telling me I need a whole box of them. 

You always said the right things. 

Anyway, I don’t know why I keep writing. Maybe it’s the only way to keep you real or alive or around. Or maybe it’s just good writing things out of my chest. It works and is easier—we agreed on that once.

Alright, I should go. It’s Sunday, and tomorrow is a big day. Wish I could tell you more.
Have a good week. Don’t hesitate to reach out if you need more info.

Love,
Me