23 Jan

I used to have a list three pages long of Things To Do Before I Die. Along with other really dumb things like “finish my 10th journal” and “have a boy’s hand on the small of my back” and “fast dance,” there were at least three bullet points about releasing messages into the world to solicit a response from someone. Anyone. In a bottle, by balloon, with a fingernail-sized etching on the bench at the bus stop, I’d asked to be acknowledged. Hey, I got your message. That was all I wanted. I needed to know I wasn’t shouting into a void, that something there would echo back, at least, to let me know that even if I was alone I mattered enough to be heard.


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