Dear Dorothy,
This is probably my last letter to you.
We're close to the end where we see different colors, not just shades of gray in a cave. The crimson bridges where we dance like a ballerina with our bare feet, the journal where we used to hide our emotions like hidden shadows in my collar bone. It was all worth it, the feet traces in the concrete would act as a compass, directions that would line up in a pattern like carved windows in the church.
We would cross in the gaps of the brick walls ready to prepare for spring and the bloom it will bring.
The blurred sides in the roads where we would drive to dead ends and wrong lanes.
Beloved sunrises and sunsets would go ripe.
But our rainbow still isn't.
'We'll get to there soon'
©sarah_
J