to you, mitch welling

i heard your words for the first time, and they reminded me that i can form ones of my own. as i'm crumbling my hope is ebbing away and every word i scrawl screams back at me, but even if it isn't my voice, it's my pen. and if that's the only thing i can control anymore, so be it; it's something.

thank you for pointing out the shred of me that's left. i'm clutching the pen like it's a lifeline, and maybe it is.

be well and keep the cold at bay.

i hope you feel your smiles today.