Chapter Text
My dear Christopher,
You never showed up, and now, after looking at Old newspapers, I understand why. I don't imagine you will receive this letter, but I nonetheless must send it.
Christopher,
Oh Christopher..
I was just starting to dream the silliest of softest dreams.
I miss you
I will always miss you.
You made a 19-year-old girl feel loved again
Not how a husband would.
But how a human would,
when she felt that no one would play with her at recess,
Or no one would sit with her at lunch,
She had her Superman.
I hope you’re galloping across celestial fields now,
the kind that stretch forever,
gold and unyielding,
With the sun a warm hand on your back,
the wind just reckless enough to laugh with.
You’ll never answer my call, and now, looking at the quiet sky, I understand.
I don’t suppose this letter will reach you
, but I'll send it anyway.
I hope you know
You were enough.
I hope you know
You made me feel enough
A small girl born after you left it, in a world too loud
Who now cries: "It should have been me."
Or hates horses because she knows what they did
That every battle, visible or unseen,
It was its own kind of flight.
And when the sky dips low to meet the grass,
I hope you feel it:
how the world still whispers your name
like a spell for courage,
How love doesn’t fade
It just learns to run farther.
Yet here, where we linger in your memory,
My heart still thumps like hooves in chase
Every time your smile flashes across the horizon:
that grin,
that almost-flight,
The way you made us believe
A man could hold up the sky
With nothing but a ripple of red
and a will that refused to bend.
When the sun sets soft and the shadows gather,
I hope you feel me in the hush.
I’m here in the dark, hand pressed to these thunder-ribs,
whispering:
“Look, he’s flying.”
— Until we meet again,
Emma