The Poetry Shed

A Space for Writers
One Year Later

Dear Daniel

Hey, Daniel,

You’re not aware of it right now, and you’re probably making a nonfat, no foam, no whip, no fun white hot chocolate latte. Or maybe you’re reading an article that you don’t understand, nor is it a scholarly source, for an essay you finally opened the word document for. Or maybe you’re drinking a coffee and staring out of the window. On a walk in the park, on a drive through a random highway, on a train speeding past an orange meadow and through to the sunrise on the beach, on a chair uncomfortable and looking at crazy math equations. Either way, it’s all going to change.

You’ll wished it hadn’t changed, that things could stay the way they used to be. When you could walk outside without a worry or second guessing which of six masks you have on your person haven’t been worn yet. You haven’t chosen your major in school yet, which you’ll come around to as impossible as it might have felt. You’ll start to like fish and you’ll commit to that instead of meat, as wild as it might sound to you. You’ll also get used to your arms and legs shaking after a long kayak or bike trip, which I think you’ll start to like eventually.

You’ll move to Rhode Island unexpectedly, and as scary as another move might sound, you’re going to make new friends. You’ll keep in contact with those you miss. You’ll make a new home and call those new cats your own.

You’re going to be okay. Your words are your best friend, you’ll have to use them sooner or later, and it’s all going to make perfect sense.