reaching for the stars never got me far

Aanika,

Have you ever felt like you hardly knew enough? I hate not understanding. It makes me feel worthless and useless and tiny. I know you get upset with yourself sometimes because you just can't cure your little brother's autism the same way I can't clean my sister's veins. Sometimes, I wish I could sit in silence with a meaningless smile on my face. I wish I could let go of everything like she does. You're not alone. All polar bears are left-handed, by the way.

You bring paper to life and often times I want to offer you my heart and see if you can make it into something beautiful and full of life, too. I don't know much about robot boys and city-lit hotels, but I've found comfort in liquor and smoke filling my lungs. I've picked my fair share of daffodils and blown a million kisses to red birds, but I can't seem to make it into art. It's always just another pathetic wish for something, anything to give me a goddamn break. I just need some time to breathe, you know?

You once wrote about a boy trying to carve himself wings so he could be an angel. I, too, wanted to fly. I dove off a balcony and I can't even begin to explain to you that incredible falling sensation, you know the one that jerks you awake when you've just fallen asleep, because I don't remember it. I didn't walk away from that because I broke my foot. I just wanted to fly. Like you said, wishes just don't come true.


My breath catches and my heart skips a beat each time I see you've posted something new because I feel like you're watching me, writing my story. You have never ceased to amaze me, captivate me. I fill tree after tree with the wrong words, incorrect grammar, lessthangoodenough poetry in an attempt to measure up to you.

It's safe to say I idolize you.



Thank you for giving me a chance to write you this letter.

always, arin