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Dear
scaled the fence. He fell, and your parents found out.
Do you remember running up to him, and cupping his face,
bringing your nose to his? Remember, how he couldn’t feel his
broken leg, because you were there, and you numbed the pain, if
only for a little while?
He was the first, and you met him at the beach. He tasted like
salt, and his hair was dreadlocked with anticipation. So you fell in
nervous love, both of you so desperately wanting each other, even
just for the novelty of the name tag. Grace and Christopher,
Christopher and Grace. You used to read his English books to him,
and he used to check your Maths answers. You loved himmore than
he loved himself. Until he found someone else to read to him,
another girl with butterscotch hair and freckles on her nose. The
night you found out, you tried your mother’s red wine. It stained
your lips maroon, and bled through his shirt, that you couldn’t take
off for fear of it truly being over. Your cheeks were salty, your eyes
raw. You loved, you lost, you left yourself behind. And here lies my
second piece of advice. Love like you did when you were sixteen.
And don’t be afraid. You are so good at that.
You were seventeen. A girl next to you clutched a porcelain toilet
bowl in her red hands, whilst you stared at the ceiling, fingers
absentmindedly sweeping her hair back. Poison shot out of her
mouth and into the water, creating a magnificent splash. You let the
strands fall. One by one they fell, almost dancing through the air,
long black threads sewing themselves onto the bowl.
And you left. That was the start.
A selfish seed surreptitiously sewed itself, burying deep into your
core. First it was leaving a friend retching over a bowl, and then as
it progressed, your seed grew into a plant. Leaves fell out of your
ears, swirled under your eyes, and branches poked holes in your
mouth.
When you saw the same girl with the red hands arranging a
pillow on a street corner, you walked past. A little too fast, even
though your wallet felt heavy with change and your heart rattled in
your chest. After all, you were always taught not to speak to the
homeless.
Be kind, Grace. All you can be is kind. Please don’t be greedy.
You are so good at that.
Now you are eighteen. Grace, my love. I know you better than
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