(002)

Bury me. Like that letter I gave you three years ago, in the tin that your grandmother once carried, containing everything in the world that mattered to her. I want to be the only thing that matters when the house we once called home burns to the ground. I want to be the fire that devours your heart and I want to be the balm you use to soothe the pain.

I want to be the letter you leave your daughter in her lunchbox that says that I hope you do not hurt, and I want to be the monster that drives it all away. I want to live in the cracks in the pavement that you still skip when you walk to work, and I want to be the skip in your step as you feel the first sun of springtime on your neck.

I want mine to be the neck you kiss goodnight to, the night that wraps around you like a dark blanket, and I want to be the morning that awakes to greet you.

When you look up at the sky shining through the atmosphere, I want to be the light from the stars that has travelled billions of years to dance with your eyes. I want to be the space between letters, the silence between words. I want to be the air you inhale and music you exhale when you sing in the shower. I want to hold yourself in the box of myself, like the tin that holds the only thing that matters to me: you.