My dearest John,
I got your letter this morning, right before leaving for work, and surprise, surprise I ended up running late again. I swear, every time you write me something sweet, I turn into that girl who stands in the kitchen smiling at a piece of paper like itâs talking back. Yes, I can already hear you teasing me: âSlowest reader east of San Andreas.â Donât start.
Today was the usual chaos. Iâve been trying to keep busy, like you always tell me. Iâm still doing those morning runs, well, ârunsâ might be generous. Letâs call them âslightly determined fast-walks.â But hey, Iâm getting better. Remember how you used to bet I couldnât make it around the block without complaining? I wouldâve proved you wrong today. Probably.
And since weâre being honest, yes, Iâve been wearing my hair the way you said you liked it lately. Not every day donât get cocky, but often enough. It makes me feel connected to you, like youâre noticing me even from miles away. You said you think about the little things between us. I do too. I miss the way youâd smirk right before joking about something I shouldnât laugh at. I miss how youâd pretend to be all serious, but your eyes would give you away every time. I know things in there are complicated, and I understand the way you have to move through that world. I wonât pretend it doesnât worry me sometimes, but I trust who you are, the real you, not the version defined by walls and watchtowers. Youâve never let this place change the way you care, and that means more than you know. Iâm counting the days too, even if I try to make it look like Iâm not.
Write me soon, okay? Your letters make the whole week feel lighter.
Always yours,
Adriana
