Breathe Easy

July 30


Not one of those other letters were addressed to you! A whole box crammed full and not one!

And they named you Blue. It’s a little unoriginal, but it fits. Do you like it? You’ve never complained — not that you can. I wonder if I would change my name if given the chance. Names hold magic, you know? Mine means ‘little fire’.

I read the faded writing and stumbled over unfamiliar words, but you seemed content enough listening. I shuffled my pillow closer to the window, where you glimmered under the moonlight.

For something that doesn’t weigh more than a mug, you’re backing some serious magic.

I didn’t realise what that truly meant until I’d made a habit of clutching at your pendant.

Seeking that soothing ripple of yours from the minute I step onto the crowded bus, to when classmates are pushing each other out the thin door. Walking from class to class where I’d stick out like a sore thumb in a crowd that blends — as if everyone is wearing the same uniform, same colours, and I’m cartwheeling in clown shoes and neons.

It’s so much easier to focus when my heart isn’t thrumming and my hands are still.

When my thoughts are a little quieter.

Easier to talk, ask questions, make decisions. I could stand in front of my class and recite an essay without my voice cracking. Raise my hand without worrying about the lingering stares.

The knots in my stomach are still there. They’re stubborn. But it’s easier now — to enjoy things, to do things.

You befriended the hummingbird in my chest.

— A.

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