Member-only story
Dear English
Dear English,
It’s two in the morning. And I’m wondering if it’s too late or too early to write this letter. Maybe the latter. Or should I write it later?
I lay here bare it’s not a lie, like a bear with nothing to hear thinking through tough thoughts. That I have to bear.
It’s quite quiet. And though two toes hurt and my heart too, I will not quit.
My father bought these four pens for me at the stationery shop that’s further down the road where the cars lay stationary. The caps are loose but I’ll try not to lose them.
He is a principal at the school that’s next to the shop. He says it’s cool. His principle is write right even when it’s tight whether the weather is rain or shine. That’s the advice he will advise often. He will also make me read through words I’ve read.
It feels Iike a debt even though he says it’s even when I learn. Obviously, it’s subtle.
When I want to cede he pushes me to exceed. He will not faze in any of my phase. Sometimes to my face he will foul even though I am his fowl. When he gives me counsel it feels like a council.
With every breath, he wants to discern that I can go through you decent without descent. He demands that I forward every foreword. Oh sometimes I cannot breathe…
