Dear Bridget
2021-05-05 04:27:35 (UTC)

It's Getting Easier

Dear B,

It is getting easier to get back on my feet after seeing you at work. Last week I slept through Monday and Tuesday like they were fever dreams. This Tuesday I felt more myself. Motivated and positive. Maybe my chipper, optimistic self is buried somewhere under the wreckage of us.

I miss you, of course. I miss you constantly and you are still the woman I dream of and wake up thinking about. My longing for you has replaced our daily conversations. Your memory is a poor substitute for the real thing, but I make due.

You left work so quickly I had no chance or hope of catching up to you Monday morning. Probably for the best. I had wanted to tell you that I don't resent you, and I'm sorry if seeing me at work is hard. I try to give you space and stay out of your line of sight.

I finished Valis. I will have to read it again, because I think you need to know the ending to truly grasp the beginning. Honestly, the start was dreadfully slow. Besides the part where he goes in patient for psych. Pretty much describes our job to a T; we are brought individuals of varying mental stability, usually against their will, and then we hold them, medicate them, and the psych NP half heartedly interviews them as if 10 minutes is enough time to grasp a broken spirit. I wonder if we help anyone, really. Or if we add to the trauma. There's just so many people hurting themselves these days, and very, very few trained personnel available to help.

I am off topic. Valis was interesting. I see the passages at the start that you liked enough to underline. They were Grim and succinct, usually. I liked the part where they met St Sophia, the young girl who was supposedly the reincarnation of the Savior.

I might read the Dark Tower after this. Another of your favorite works. I am reading a lot of your favorite books and comics. It serves as a good distraction, and when I see you at work it sort of helps me separate who you are now from who you were (to me). You are gruff B from work, not Bird, the shy and vulnerable woman who I shared time with. Work you is different, always has been.

I can't decide if I should return Valis to you or not. Part of me feels like I should because it's your favorite book and you lent it to me. Another part of me feels like you would be insulted, or irritated that I am trying to talk to you at all.

I guess I'll hold on to it. I highlighted some things in a different color, as you encouraged me to do when you handed me the battered copy. I wrote you notes but you won't read them.

After I finished reading, I had a memory of us when we used to walk into work together. We were holding hands and you were tense. I commented that the black shadows of the palm trees were striking against the pink sky. Do you remember?

You said they made you nervous, because palm trees made you think of storms. You didn't like it. Then you shook your head, almost child like, becoming anxious, and repeated, "I just don't like them." After that, I stopped pointing out sunsets.

You were my best friend and I miss you dearly. I still hope, one day, we meet again under better circumstances. I still hope we both heal enough that you can visit me in my home, when I have one. We can sit across from one another and share a hot meal, and it might be raining outside, and everything feels peaceful. I will read to you the letters I wrote you, and you can show me your writing again. We can fall asleep under the same roof. I will no longer be terrified of a life without you.

Do you remember the innocence of our first kiss? Do you remember any of it as it happened, or has it all turned to poison for you, as you said it would?