Dear Wormwood
After The Oh Hellos
It’s been a while, hasn’t it?
How old were we—fifteen?
The world seemed smaller then,
at least, you made it feel that way.
I finally read the last letter you sent me.
…
Do you remember when we’d stay up late watching the stars? You were at your most peaceful then.
I tried so hard not to doze off—
but my body got so heavy, aching from looking up so long. You hated that.
So I pried my eyes open, slept late and woke up even later just to keep up with you.
I’m writing this by the river we used to walk by. The one you threatened to jump into
when you were mad at me.
When that stopped scaring me,
you started threatening to plunge
my head into the water.
We’d walk this river for miles
until my home was swallowed up
by the horizon, far behind me.
You never had a home
and mine was a bitter reminder of that.
So you laughed at my fears—
spiteful that I didn’t suffer like you did.
For you to forgive me, I punished myself.
I know you wanted me to stay,
but you couldn’t stop me from changing, no matter how loud you screamed. How could you claim you loved me when you refused to use my name?
I hope you found a home
in new streams, clearer rivers.
I hope it’s far, far away from me.
Even back then, I knew what love felt like. It wasn’t this.
Sincerely,
Edward
