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I Wanted To Write You A Thousand Letters

Harriet Castro

Winter, 2023

Sometimes I wonder if your life by the sea is similar to your life in the city, 

Can the ocean be a true and tender friend? 

Do you skip on the pavement and twirl your keys around your finger, 

Or does your soul still perish in that room, 

Coiled and weeping in my arms of thorns? 


Masked with daylight and budding trees, April worked wickedly to replace old life with new, 

And you and I, together, clowned on a concrete court beneath the sour, infant fruits.   

Morning slipped to sleep while we headed homeward, with blush-tinted smiles unwarned of the bite of spring. 


However ill-equipped, we were supposed to save her.  

Do you remember how hard we tried?  

How we crouched by her door and pleaded until our lips cracked and our bellies roared? 

In the very moment that remains to sear and wound, 

I would cower whilst you burst in strength. 


Forever, your heart will serve a solitary punishment for it's courage,  

But trust, though weak, mine will serve too.  


We held like ivy twined brick in that room, 

and to me, your head was porcelain.  

Wine-soused wives gathered on their doorsteps to piece together their telltale,  

while we wished for dear laughter over screams.  


In the small hours, I confided in the moon. 

I wonder if we lay awake in the same moment, with torn eyes piercing pores into the walls. 

Did you sleep with the light on, too?  


We spat like children, my reflection had the sharper tongue. 

When you promised I would rot, I vowed to demonstrate, 

But with that, you had to spoil too.  


The time we shared was not without blemish, 

Though it was stained with passion as it was agony. 

We would follow the trail of poison-laced crumbs until we reached our sour end, 

Now in my dreams, I scream at your heart for forgiveness.  


Please hear me! 


Old friend, I wanted to write you a thousand letters, 

But my anguish would pile and go unread.  

We were too young to be bound in blood-soaked violence. 


I pray soft silks and coastal air can set you free. 

Harriet likes to collect zines, journal, and is pretty good at burying her head in the sand. She wants to kiss Billie Joe Armstrong and her friends inspire her every day. She writes to clear her mind.

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