Letters
[excerpt from Hayley’s letters to Wyatt]
My Wyatt,
It’s been 365 days since you left, and you’ve written me twelve letters. I read each one of them over and over again as I lie in bed and wonder which constellation you’re sleeping under. I miss you more than all those stars in the sky . . .
I met this woman the other day at the lake where we used to fish, and she sat there singing a song I didn't quite recognize. She was the shabby sort, a ripped jacket with her shoes all muddy. I could tell she’d walked a million miles and lived a thousand years. I asked her what she was singing. “Three Little Birds,” she said and proceeded to sing.
So now I’m a Bob Marley fan.
Thought for the day: I should do dreadlocks.
That made me think about how people are so resilient, so strong. Deep inside, we are a force to be reckoned with. Here was this woman with nothing, and yet she had a song in her heart.
She had everything to worry about, and yet, she kept reminding herself not to.
Don’t worry, Wyatt . . .
. . .
Be safe my heart,
Come back to me.
H
