Letter #7

Delia—

I just wailed on a heavy bag until my hands hurt. That sounds more impressive than it was. Mostly I cried and missed and kicked something that did not deserve it.

I tried to make your face the target. I couldn’t do it, though.

Then I tried to make mine the target, which is probably not emotionally recommended.

Ever found me before I got too far into that. I wanted you to find me.

There. I said it.

I wanted my sister. Not the cold woman in Noir. Not the girl with secrets and rosary marks.

You.

I wanted you.

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