Letter from the Past

Dear Love,
‘The characteristics of man are forever changing, but his purpose remains the same.’

                        It happened. On my Ninth, eleventh and sixteenth birthday.

 I have always considered the time we cried together, side by side tears and not on top of one another.

The colour, shape and direction of my eyes paint a wonderful picture; the composition of my facial features illustrated youth and beauty.               

Under aged perhaps?                 

                                My legs resembled a pale white dove.                                                                                

                Often I sit near you and stare in amazement at the openness life freely exposes and wonder how I managed to worship the smallest yet greatest thing in life, constantly in fear of yesterday but excited about today.

                How the words ‘I love you’ can replenish my soul with a substantial amount of strength and a hug can give me hope for years on end.

Thoughts in my head of how uncomfortable it was positioned in such a critical state unable to cry for help.

My pupils darken and skin tone decreased.

                     I saw tears roll down my cheek; awkwardly gripping the bed sheet edges.

Readjusting my body in the cardiac arrest position it lifted the thunder beneath its belt and began to syncopate my heart beat, it started gentle, lost balance then squeezed through delicately.

About nine months ahead I discovered it destroyed the tiniest muscles within. Creating a replica of what we call love by injecting me with one sour tablespoon of salt.

Not guilty, but no longer innocent.

Just love.

Anna Marie Charles


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