Dear you. It bothered me that you only came to see me in hospital once when I was poorly. I know I looked ugly then. And yes, I’m still poorly but I look better. You have started liking my Instagram pictures again.
Dear you. I won’t forget how tightly I hung onto you when you had to leave me alone after visiting hours. I won’t forget waiting to cry until you were gone. I won’t forget your face when I saw you hiding behind the curtains, crying with me.
Dear you. Thanks for making me a pro wheelchair racer.
Dear you. Thank you for realising that sometimes it isn’t medicine that makes me feel better, but poetry and the sunrise instead.
Dear you. It is ironic that your empathy is more see-through than my invisible illness.
Dear you. Lonely 3am pain has turned into adventures, like chasing the sunrise with sirens.
Dear you. Thank you for not asking questions.
Dear you. Thank you for prescribing Love.