Letter to a Stranger I Know Well

You came to me in a dream last night, as curious and full of life as the day I met you on the playground. 

It was the first week of preschool and I had no friends, mostly because I chose not to.

I didn’t really take any interest in the people around us, just observed them quietly from afar.

One of the first things I noticed about you was your nails, painted a blue that resembled your icy eyes. 

I came up behind you as you were climbing the play structure.

You had Paw Patrol rain boots on, they were red around the rim. 

I was gonna ask you why you had your nails painted, because to 5-year-old me, seeing a boy with bright blue chipped nail polish on his fingers for everyone to see was quite confusing and definitely a first. 

I never asked you, because I had forgotten your name, I just watched you with fascination.

Your head was buzzed, your blond hair jutting up from your scalp like a porcupine on guard.

When you laughed, your lips pulled back to reveal two big buck teeth, and your cheeks sunk to two small dimples like mine. 

You had a look in your eyes, a look I’ll never forget as long as I live, for I became completely enraptured by it.

The way they lit up when you were happy, and the sadness that filled them when you had an unpleasant reminder of your reality. 

We didn’t become close until around 5th grade, but I had been watching you since before that; since I first laid my eyes on you. 

I so desperately wanted to make you laugh, I craved your validation for reasons I still don’t know to this day, but when I got it I felt so pleased with myself. 

Now you’re nothing but a shell of the boy I used to know. 

Your skin grey, all the light that once filled every corner of your being sucked out of you by the perils of the unlucky hand you were dealt. 

Your eyes, once so magnetic, now pits of sorrow destined for failure.

You wanted to be an MLB player. Now, the skin on your bones appears to be rotting off before my very eyes. 

Your cheeks, once round and jolly, now sit on your face hollow. 

You still have dimples, but instead of deep concave, they're nothing more than two lines melting off your face on the rare occasion you bless the world with your smile.

A parasite leached onto you, subconsciously hoping to drain the last shred of wonder you have left in you.

I want so desperately to save you from this fate you're spiraling down towards, but I know you’re the only person who can save you from yourself.

Still, if you ever need someone to talk to, or a reminder of your past self, never hesitate to call.