A letter to … My grandmother, the only one who understood me

The letter you always wanted to write

I remember taking a late-night walk, a few months after you died, when a thought reduced me to tears. I was ambling along a bridge that divided my apartment building from your former nursing home and I thought: “You’re never going to see me as a person in love.”

At that time, I thought I was in love. Maybe I was. My feelings for an unavailable man consumed me in a way nothing else had or should. I didn’t know how to be apart from my thoughts about him, but I didn’t know how to be with him either. All my relationships were suffering as a result.

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