This is a letter to April.
When you come to meet me, don't meet me in my dreams. Touch me. I've missed your touch. My skin cannot feel anymore, neither can my mind, and nor can I. I'm hardened from skin to the bones. I know I won't feel anything. A rock.
I didn't feel March, or February or January.
When you're here, I'll give this life another chance. I'll stop fighting the thoughts in my head. I'll be it. Stop running away from moments and just live the life I’m born to live. The beautiful thing about sadness isn't the beauty in it, it's the reality of it. So I'll do anything but run away. I'll stay.
For reality.
Oh April, what would I give to be real with you?
My life.
Is yours.
And when you're here, I might still run away. From everything that in my head I make problematic. But I'll run to you. And in that I find no harm. I know you will not break me, you'll make me- not the boy who I was, the man I want to be.
April, when you meet me, I'll meet myself too.
Yours truly, Sid.