To Rosalie Rutherford,
Dear Rosie,
Your chocolate made it! It arrived a little melted—though I suppose even letters don’t escape the sun here—but it was no less lovely for it. Thank you. You always manage to tuck so much kindness into such small gestures. I broke a piece off and let it melt on my tongue while I read your letter. It was like having you here with me, even if only for a moment.
Your words are a balm, Rosie, truly. I could almost see you sitting in a lavender field, the scent of it wrapping around you like a warm embrace. I wonder if it’s the same for you as it is for me with the stars—how something so simple can feel like a tether, pulling us back when we might otherwise float away. I think that’s why I keep looking up. The stars remind me that no matter how far I roam, I’m still a part of something vast and connected.
West Hills sounds peaceful, like a place where breaths come easier. I can imagine the firelight dancing on the walls, the sound of the wind through the trees. Do you ever sit outside and watch the sun set, the sky shifting through its palette of colors? I used to love that as a child. It felt like watching the world exhale.
As for pigeons—well, I’ll admit I don’t know much about them beyond the fact that they’re remarkably determined little creatures. A sparrow still seems more my style, though. Perhaps I’ll find a particularly brave one to carry my letters, or maybe just a feathered friend to keep me company.
Your mention of Vincent made me pause. I wish I could have met him. From the way you speak of him, I think I’d have liked him very much. I don’t know what I’d say to someone I’ve lost, but I hope they’d feel the same warmth I feel when I read your letters. Do you think they’d know, somehow, how much they’re still a part of us?
I’m trying to take your advice, to let your words settle over me like a lullaby. Some nights, I even imagine you’re reading them aloud. It makes the darkness feel less daunting, as if the shadows might step back for just a little while.
I’ll write again, Rosie. I promise. Your letters remind me that the world isn’t just shadows and silence—it’s also lavender fields, chocolate, and stars. And when I do come back, I hope you’ll tell me all your stories by the fire, with that chocolate cake waiting on the table.
Take care, my Rosie. You make the world gentler, just by being in it.
Yours, always,
Asha
@Rosalie Rutherford
Dear Rosie,
Your chocolate made it! It arrived a little melted—though I suppose even letters don’t escape the sun here—but it was no less lovely for it. Thank you. You always manage to tuck so much kindness into such small gestures. I broke a piece off and let it melt on my tongue while I read your letter. It was like having you here with me, even if only for a moment.
Your words are a balm, Rosie, truly. I could almost see you sitting in a lavender field, the scent of it wrapping around you like a warm embrace. I wonder if it’s the same for you as it is for me with the stars—how something so simple can feel like a tether, pulling us back when we might otherwise float away. I think that’s why I keep looking up. The stars remind me that no matter how far I roam, I’m still a part of something vast and connected.
West Hills sounds peaceful, like a place where breaths come easier. I can imagine the firelight dancing on the walls, the sound of the wind through the trees. Do you ever sit outside and watch the sun set, the sky shifting through its palette of colors? I used to love that as a child. It felt like watching the world exhale.
As for pigeons—well, I’ll admit I don’t know much about them beyond the fact that they’re remarkably determined little creatures. A sparrow still seems more my style, though. Perhaps I’ll find a particularly brave one to carry my letters, or maybe just a feathered friend to keep me company.
Your mention of Vincent made me pause. I wish I could have met him. From the way you speak of him, I think I’d have liked him very much. I don’t know what I’d say to someone I’ve lost, but I hope they’d feel the same warmth I feel when I read your letters. Do you think they’d know, somehow, how much they’re still a part of us?
I’m trying to take your advice, to let your words settle over me like a lullaby. Some nights, I even imagine you’re reading them aloud. It makes the darkness feel less daunting, as if the shadows might step back for just a little while.
I’ll write again, Rosie. I promise. Your letters remind me that the world isn’t just shadows and silence—it’s also lavender fields, chocolate, and stars. And when I do come back, I hope you’ll tell me all your stories by the fire, with that chocolate cake waiting on the table.
Take care, my Rosie. You make the world gentler, just by being in it.
Yours, always,
Asha
@Rosalie Rutherford
01-21-2025, 07:04 AM
