Member-only story
Dear Julietta
You were so much, and I wasn’t enough.
Dear Julietta,
I know you might not remember me. It’s been a few years now since we were in the same poetry class Ms. Lawson taught, and I’ve filled out a bit since then. I traded my pen and keyboard for weights; we both know I never would have made it as a writer out there. But you? Yeah, you had what it takes.
I can still remember the first time I heard you speak: it was during that icebreaker session where we had to name one of our favorite authors, and you sat in quiet contemplation, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip, before you said, so soft, “I don’t know if I can pick one. It seems unfair, don’t you think?” And Ms. Lawson didn’t quite know what to say to that before she moved on to the next student.
But me? I was still looking at you. I watched you tuck a strand of your dark hair behind your ear, and I could see two piercings on your lobe. Your eyes were downcast, and a part of me wanted to see your eyes meet mine just once. In that one rush of longing, I felt a surge of energy as if you had kickstarted something inside me.
In the weeks that followed, I was always drawn to you when you shared your pieces on our workshop days. Your voice, so light a touch, still fell heavy upon me as you shared things through your writing that perhaps you had…
