A letter to Those I Don’t Know What to Call Anymore but Have Forgiven and Hope I Somehow Forget
by Ayah

What do I call a person, people, now neither friends nor community. What do I tell my own self whom I am just as clueless about?

I’m not going to let this letter explain anything because I sat here for too long thinking how I can tell without telling. Instead this will be a letter that I hope will be like the fields of flowers I want to run through someday wearing boots, a flower crown, a twirly dress and holding either a chicken, a sword, an axe or a bow.
I sometimes leave without a word, and it either feels like running away or it’s actually the best thing to do for me. Whether it’s people, things, thoughts or viruses, right now I am happy I’m with myself. With myself I wish to be and to do and to think.

It’s been almost a year since I’ve walked away on a path too blurry to look at. If I see you again, I’ll hug you because I have nothing in my heart, nor did I for ten years, maybe more.

I like how I am a better self with still a long way to go. At least, this path is much clearer and a lot happier alone.