A Letter to Resignation


Dear Resignation,


Today I met Billie; he is an old friend of Ollie’s. He is not what I expected. For a man so tall he stoops very low.

He carries himself as if walking on ice, unable to trust his own feet.

 We decided to go walking in the hills. I found myself captivated by the wisps of his short hair shivering in the breeze. I was reminded of dandelions. His pace did not change when I told him this.


It was very cold but he did not complain. In fact, he slipped once and grazed his knee and he still did not complain.

I admired his silence. I know I cannot keep so quiet.

 The scenery was very sweet and gentle but I worried that Billie could not see it.


As we climbed, I asked him if he was the type to let the current carry him or if he’d rather swim to shore.

He took a long time to reply; his voice almost eloped with the wind.

He said he was the type to sink to the sea bed and wait for the current to change.

I told him he might be waiting an awful long time.

He said he didn’t mind.


That is when I fathomed I might write you this letter. Did you visit Billie too? I would have liked to ask him if you were acquaintances, but I fear I frightened him. His tongue scurried down the back of his throat.

When he took my hand to help me over a rock his fingers felt heavy yet hollow. Did you take his bone marrow? Replace it with leaden air?

Can you give it back?


By the end of our short wander Billie’s legs were beginning to buckle. I thought he might not make it home but he did.

I like him a lot.


I think he likes you better.

Will you share him, perhaps? I think we could be good friends.



Your occasional visitor,


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