Day two was a day of driving. I kept thinking I would stop, walk the coast or a park. I wanted desperately to write a note to Annie but my spirit just wanted to keep going, so I allowed it. Though I’ve been in bed resting for quite sometime, I’d just grown still enough for the words to start to arrive.
I want to know you better. It’s a curious thing to feel the need to be closer when already we are so bonded. But it’s true. Much of the reason I admire you since our first, err, second meeting was because you were honest in a way that would scare most people. I thought then that I wanted to be that courageous about the things I want and the people I want to be around.
You’ve pushed me beyond any other peer I’ve ever had. And as dear as I hold my writing, I trust you with it. I feel we are equally invested in each others’ success. Truthfully, I partially took this pause for you, too. Practically speaking because it will help me get back to a place of productivity with our writing and editing, and metaphorically because it’s the pause you would never allow yourself. I’ve also been working on words to say about the grieving for us. I can feel the presence of our unhad conversation. I want to find the words for you, but I’m afraid because no combination dulls the pain. No rhyme curbs the hurt. No syntax soothes the ache of what we know was our truth. If only for a few precious moments.
It isn’t lost on me that you also hold the horror of that night. I’m so thankful you stayed with me as I recounted it for the first time. I think maybe I borrowed your strength to bear the words. Far too many bonds of pain weld us together. Perhaps the alchemy of our experiences will preserve our friendship so that it may sustain without tarnish, or depletion.
You are like the most beautiful song with no words. I see that. Long sees that. I do believe everyone who has really looked at you must. In your delicate melody houses a million thoughts, not unlike those still deep waters. A love song or the slow march as a soldier prepares for war, a young girls dance through a garden, it could all be there at any time. You’re a curious and enigmatic piece and because of your canvas I see reflected back the very dreams of my heart.
That is what you do, you continually gift possibility. And I don’t know how that is. So I want to know you better. Because I want to know what to say when your song sounds sad. I want to know how to dance when it’s happy. I want to be a better friend to you. One that is more present and vocal about the gratitude I have for you.
I do not know what we were in another life, but in this life we are sisters.