Softly burn to earth

Softly burn to earth


I don't want to be the messenger, Liz,

Of the things that will happen to you. I won't say 'me'; it wouldn't be right.

It is coming. Gather your stories, conversations, memories, your loved ones and "I love you"s: collect the rations for the journey. It's too cruel; even with hindsight, I can't ask you to ask the things I was never able to. Your efforts were fine but it can't be helped, the way the brain opens, like a flower, into new things (that was painful to write; do you remember what was said yet?): you can't look at a leaf and and feel the bud.

You don't know the feeling yet. I won't patronise you; you're not a 'stupid little kid'. You already know that feeling something new and imagining how something will feel are two different things. Still, it'll be a while before you know know this. You will know the feeling when your heartbeat freezes, the frost cuts through your spine, and your face pulls taut into a mask as your brain seems to shrink inside the skull, dragging you further away. It's brief - and irrevocable. That night, don't dream it was a dream. It'll make the morning harder.

Please, know that you were always loved. Always. There is a reason you weren't there. Please.

This isn't my warning to you. Fear and helpless at being unable to alter events is not a burden I can place on anyone. Things happen for a reason, no matter how dark. If reason fails under emotion, it's ok. To cure this past would be to kill myself. You are not a murderer, nor I a victim. Even if I could give you this letter, I would choose not to.

So you will not read this letter - let it crumple and burn to ash in your mind, as it should. Enjoy your school trip. Wave goodbye from the sticky coach window; then don't look back. One day you'll know why.

Instead, take my hand. We'll travel through together, stringing along the years on our skin like dew. That is my gift.

'Til we meet,

Love from Tomorrow.