#letter

Words are elusive, but still I grasp at them. Like my pain, they will be neither clear nor coherent. 

 Dear Family,

Tears continue to leak from my eyes for Orlando. Anguish has been washed all over my face. I’m convinced that numb is a feeling, for I’ve felt it far too often. The singular queer and trans deaths we have known over the years have been like daggers, but this was an explosion and my heart weeps for you and for myself. I long for souls that I never knew personally.

This tragedy has been a great reminder. As someone who’s had the privilege to be out as queer since 14, this senseless act has reminded me of those days of fear. Days when the suffocation of silence outweighed the risk of being bold. Days when I second guessed saying who I really was. When I worried about being abandoned and alone. Before I knew that all you existed.

Read more.

I’m not good at constantly messaging you or calling you to keep in touch. I don’t live in the same country as most of my close friends and family. But that doesn’t mean I forgot about you or don’t care about you anymore.

I am constantly reminded of you when I play pool, when i drink beer, when i introduce myself with the nickname you gave me, when i’m watching spirited away or pixar movies, when im high, when i see your favorite munchies, when i make guac, when i dont have anyone to do our secret handshake with, when im alone.

You are a part of my life as much as when you are by my side as when you are far away. Memories with you follow me everywhere i go, and i relive each memory everytime i remember it.

THAT is why even after a loooong ass time of not seeing each other, it still feels like we were never apart. THAT is why we are best friends.

It doesn’t matter if I don’t hear from you for a month, 6 months, or a year. The next time I see you, it would start from exactly where we left off, except we’ll have billion things to catch up to.

your best friend,
Killme Shithole (dont ask why)

“this is not my last letter to you—

our correspondence continues

even though you no longer have an address”

Gabriela Melinescu