You’re far away. In a crowded, expensive city with your shiny hair and your rapid conversations. What I remember most are your bright orange slippers and your silver toes.
You’re dying. You told me so.
There isn’t so much to say. We haven’t spoken in a long time. When I think of you, I don’t feel all that I would have liked to. We aren’t friends exactly but we could have been. We’d have gotten along like a house on fire, I just know it. There just wasn’t enough time. Is there ever?
In the brief time where our lives overlapped, you told me you wanted to be travel. You held out your atlas and crossed out India and laughed. I hope you travelled more after.
Distances feel longer when things aren’t quite the way we’d like them.
I just thought you should know that I wish you didn’t have to die. You said you’re prepared and I hope you’re right. Good luck and I’ll be thinking of you.