Pen Pal

Dear Dante,

Thank you for the advice. I must say, however, it was shitty.

“You are the storm. What are your thunder and lightning telling you?” Was that really supposed to be helpful? Because it wasn’t.

Please forgive the rudeness, but my life is falling apart. Correction, it already fell apart. I’m just wandering around in all the broken pieces, kicking up dust and cutting my feet on shards of glass.

And by the way, what was that whole thing about the love that turned the stars and the wheels? That was confusing as hell. As a matter of fact, all your letters have been confusing. I still don’t know what you want from me or why you decided we should be pen pals or how you even found me in the first place.

I hardly know what’s real and what isn’t anymore. I don’t even know if these letters are real. Maybe I’m staring at the wall in my locked room in a mental institution, conjuring all this up in my head? That’s what it feels like, anyway. I feel like I let go of the rope that tied me to a dock, and now I’m drifting alone far out at sea in a leaking raft that’s being circled by hungry sharks. And the wind is picking up. And it’s starting to rain.

I’m drowning, Dante. I’m drowning.

What I really need right now is a life jacket.

Kayla