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Handwritten This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine.

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Some letters have a pulse.
I can tell these special ones apart by the way the paper breathes and the way the C painted
on the envelope curls around like a gentle wave.
I know that handwriting with my eyes closed.
Your words are like a window into the apartment across the street. For a second the curtain is pulled back and I see a little bit of your soul.

I see the worn couch where you sit to count
the tiles on the kitchen floor and pick at the stitches in the leather.
You count the seconds on the clock but your lips are moving too fast.
The cup of tea you made to calm your nerves
sits cold on the kitchen counter.
You are dissolving.
And when you glance at me I catch reflections
in your eyes.

I am floating in the waves of your writing.
For a moment I can feel your heartbeat before
the current pulls you away.
If I could send you healing in the mail I’d write to you every day. But for now all I can do is
say I’m sorry for your loss.
And once I wrote back
to tell you that I miss you –
I sent it to my own address.

This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.

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