Letters to Wyatt✔️

21

January 7, 2016.

Dear Wyatt,

This town's much busier than the one we grew up in, and I figure that if I'm going to continue going walking every morning, I might as well do it at a park where I don't stand out than wandering creepily through random neighborhoods, so today I returned to the park I was at yesterday. There weren't many people there; there's just something about January weather at six in the morning that seems to turn away most people, but I don't mind the loneliness. It seems to be my normal without you.

I made a few laps on the mile long path circling the park and then planted myself on the same bench as yesterday, my legs pulled tight to my chest and my chin resting on top of them. I put my earbuds in, some piano music playing softly. Lately, all the happy songs annoy me for being so shallow, and all the sad songs only further depressed me, so piano music it was.

The earbuds didn't do the trick of repelling people from trying to talk to me. Before I knew it, some tall, broad guy had sat next to me on the bench.

At first, I thought he just needed somewhere to sit. A few seconds in silence with him sitting next to me gave me enough time to notice the fact that he wasn't afraid of wearing basketball shorts in winter and that he had a brace on his right knee. I thought that maybe I had gotten lucky; he only sat by me because he needed to rest his knee. However, this was a stupidly hopeful assumption.

Before long, he turned to me and asked, "Are you okay?"

I was a little confused and offered a half-hearted confirmation of my fine-ness, to which he responded, "You sure?"

I, once again, told him I was fine. To this he responded quietly that he was glad. I guess, my sobbing break-down yesterday at that park did not go unseen or forgotten. That guy was there, and apparently, I looked bad enough that he felt like he had to check up on me.

My attempt to be normal and blend in in this new town is already off to a bad start. Wyatt, I'm scared that I'm never going to belong here, just like everywhere else I've been since you died. I can't help but notice over and over again how unfair it is that you're my home, yet the only way a car could get me to you is if it ran me over.

And as appealing as that sounds some days, it's just not an option. I wish that I could retrace my steps back to when I had you and you had me. If I could pause myself in one of those moments, I could be happy for eternity, but time doesn't seem to be taking requests from sad college girls lately.

Savannah

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