Dear Violet,

I don’t need to call attention to the amount of time that’s passed, in some ways I hope you felt it as acutely as I did. Simply put, I needed time. Excuse me, but I’m going to say that a lot in this letter. ‘I’. Me me me. It’s time for selfish tendencies to come to light. I want this to be clear, sharply cut, sterile, but I doubt that I’m capable of that. I’ll make no promises for complete honesty and instead focus all my efforts on trying to swallow down the bulge in my throat.

I love you, I’ve loved you for years now. We kissed on your bed and you carved my chest open in return. I think a part of me will always be therebleeding out in your dorm room, waiting for you to love me back. I know you do, or did, love me in all the ways that matter. I wonder if that would have been enough. I think I can see your point, about there being too much between us, if I squint. You confuse me though, as to why it would be bad. You crave intensity, have said it yourself, and I crave that level of understanding that I’ve only ever experienced with you. Sometimes I need to remind myself that you don’t also exist inside my head, I feel as though I never need to say my thoughts out loud to you-that you know them all instinctively. Don’t get me wrong, this is not a manifesto as to why I believe we should be in a relationship, rather it is almost the opposite. I took a month, maybe more, to refocus on what we should look like. When you kissed me, I found myself dragged into the open. We loved each other for a few days, and then upon returning, I found myself abandoned- alone in the clearing. Given these circumstances, I hope you’ll forgive my mourning time.

I’m ready – or as ready as I will be within a given amount of time – to talk to you again. I’ve missed you, but I needed to be sure if it was the you before the visit that I missed. My friend Violet. We’ve been linked for so long that for a while I wasn’t sure if there was anything else left. I’m still not certain whether our friendship was ever truly platonic in nature, even while each of us were seeing other people. Just last year, you didn’t invite your boyfriend over after I left for the night, because you wanted your sheets to still smell like me come morning. Maybe we’ve never been normal, but it’s time to start to be. If not for our own sakes, then for our friends. So, I’m ready to start trying, to move upwards and out and to bury this thing between us like a childhood dead fish in the backyard. I love you, but I’m ready to start acting like I don’t. So what do you think? What is left for us?

Sincerely,

Lavender

(a brush of the knuckles… a glance or a gaze, look away)

Turn that knob all the way down

Wrap it up and tuck it away

Hidden in the corner of the kitchen, Guard it with garlic, onions,