To a New Dawn: Letters of Solidarity Anthology

ABBY STAFFORD, 17 Dear my dedication, Some six months ago, when blooming Spring rose past the cold soil and set my hand in motion, I sat happily with friends beside me. The air between us was warm like the Summer we’d never have, kept close to our skin as we leant against classroom walls, shoulders pressed together.

Sharing, I think, warm cappuccinos to ward off what little wintery spell had choked its way through the brightening sky. Whispers of a far-off storm kept clear through our silly remarks and happy laughs.

We wrote, not knowing, all of our experience, our work and our hope into little blinking documents that would never find themselves completed. There were a lot of things to do: work and study and applications for anything and everything that could take us to our futures. Little did we know.

Because when time paused like that blooming Spring had forgotten its way to Summer, our futures too forgot that every day was still a day in our lives that fell forwards into the wind. And the breeze that took them stayed unforgiving of our crumbling teenage years.

But it was fun. It was exciting. Weeks could fly and we were happy to see them leave, to feel the break in pressure as every responsibility charmed itself into vanishing.

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