Dear lost one,
I made a diorama of our hearts today. They're intricately folded together into all sorts of patterns. Your heart looks a bit like the moon, one side of it is all darkness while the other side looks like white milk tears that drip from the sky. Mine is covered in stitches, it's mended nicely but it's not so beautiful as yours. I'm so scared. For if your heart is the moon then you will begin to drift farther and farther into space, an inch every year. And I'll be moonsick. My stitches will become unstitched and all of my stuffing will spill out until my heart is a little porcelain shell left stranded by the seaside. It'll lay there in the sand underneath your fading luminescence, sinking deeper and deeper until the intricate folds that bind us together will loosen completely.
P.S. Please do not forget your little broken shell that sleeps beneath the tides as you glimmer in another region of the universe.
words via The Feather Circus
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