Only far too recently have I come to appreciate the Things that saved me in earlier years. Imagine a stained glass window, and each chip of glass represents a song lyric, a specific line from a specific movie, a page reference in a book, a smile from a stranger on the street, seemingly small acts of kindness which brought colour to my day. It’s fragile, but it was enough to show me the harsh sunlight which made it hard to see could be harnessed to create a work of art on the cracked stone floor of my church.
This is a memoir for a girl, AC. You don’t know me, in fact you never really did, but I remember you caring. Even if you don’t care right now, the memories you left me with are enough to move me to writing.
There aren’t even many memories, only one feels real.
You told me you considered me a friend, no, a “close friend”, and that was enough to make me die for you. I don’t know if this came from a place of pity (how could you have known how desperately lonely I was?) but I like to think you were genuine. My only regret was I could not say the same back to you. You were not a close friend to me because I pushed you away, it was my fault but I wasn’t ready for something with substance yet, I was only just getting used to the dry taste of my own mouth and the words that stuck. I was only just learning to breath through my nose and allow myself to speak.
Thank you for setting me on the path to confidence. You may not have realised the profound effect your small words had on me, but I would be as bold as to say, it was a large contribution to the Things that Saved Me.