Pete,
I'm sorry for the prolonged silence.
I've been very busy.
Things are different now, and I'm not scared to admit that I'm terrified. I live in a three-room apartment with a bedroom, a tiny kitchen (that doubles up as a lounge) area and a miniscule closet of a toilet. The cat downstairs has come to like me, and over the past three weeks she's taken to dropping by for milk or tuna, which I leave out for her when I have enough money to spare. I have a job at a community newspaper, where it's my job to help edit articles and layouts.
I'm taking it day by day, like baby steps. It's like learning to walk, but I'm no longer scared of falling. It's like you said, I've already fallen so far. There's nowhere to go now but up.
Now that an entire ocean separates me and my comfort zone, I'm growing accustomed to feeling exposed. Because having a roof over my head and food to eat next week isn't a certainty. Because I'm typing this at the local library, using their computers because I haven't got ennough money for WiFi at home. Because the only living thing I talk to outside of work is Susie (the downstairs cat).
But that's okay. Because I'm not worried about the future any more. I'm worried about today. Being alive, and being happy isn't about never testing yourself, never pushing out of your comfort zone. I don't know what it's about yet.
But I'm on my way to find out.
Yours sincerely,
January.
(To tomorrow.)
YOU ARE READING
Re: Pete
Short Story❝Roses have thorns, my dear, but so do you. ❞ In which Jan falls into an existential crisis, and Pete is there for her, if only in the form of words on her screen.
