Dear Serabella, Have hope.

Dear Serabella,
It’s been so long since I have last seen you.
Now buried so deep amidst the challenges of the present, it becomes unbearable to see the past with your
Generous yellow-brown eyes. 
But I will tell you, you seemed to belong to the summer.
You may not remember me, but I remember you.

I remember how you loved the patience of the orange light, finding its way through the cracks in the blinds. Sunshine on a shelf, as you called it. And I remember how you would prop yourself up on your elbows from bed, just to face the warmth. In awe that even in the dead of night
The sun’s way was eternal.
I remember that you would let the air escape your lungs in a hurried breathlessness, and your eyes would rekindle at the novelty of a narrow bikeway.
You would let the wind play with your words as you rhapsodized over the moss that seemed to close in on you. Movement stirred about you from all angles.
And I remember, how you giggled with pleasure that the corners of towels are for drying your ears. 
How magical a spirit to become enthralled with such a simple thing.

You hated those dreams where you couldn’t move. The ground plain and mild, and yet you couldn’t etch your feet away from it. I could feel how you saw the world, a birling incandescence to pursue.
You told me how you hated when people recognized you but didn’t truly know you.
I know you. 
How you avoided at all costs the thorny conversation and curious glances uprising when you returned to the fruit market for the second day in a row. 
And you hid behind your smile. What a thing to hide behind,
So vulnerable and warm.
You told me you were tired, that you felt each day you were splintering. 
You were cautious of your fond laugh that would occasionally slip to a wheeze. You grew cautious and painfully aware of many things. Bike rides where birds calls melted into people laughing. They must be laughing at me. 
And it was hard to watch you shrink away before me.
To watch the yellow-eyed girl shut out a part of herself.
I can’t begin to imagine why such a beautiful person would want to cloud their givings?

For a person who has so much to give, has a way that is eternal.

My Dearest Serabella, Have hope.