Card of Ink.

In art therapy yesterday we were prompted to write a letter to someone we felt we needed to talk to. As soon as I heard the assignment I cringed and choked up. I immediately knew what I had to express and knew it would be painful.

Below is what I wrote.

I called you today. What I got was your voice. And as warm as it was to me, to my trials, it wasn't the warmth I truly wanted. I wanted the warmth of your arms. Your warm, safe embrace. Because as strong a woman I am, there are days, and always will be, where all I need is that strength . . . that strength with my head and nose buried into your chest.

The softness of that fabric against my face is more comforting than a thousand smiles; a hundred hugs. And knowing that I pushed that beautiful fabric away feels like death.

So here
I die.

Until .

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