Dear Aisha, 

I heard we moved to a new house, 

Did the paint on the walls fade again to a wispy yellow?

I know how hard mama tries to keep it bright and shining, 

But the walls were always whining, 

They often said we dreamt too loud 

But how could we not? 

Papa’s bookshelves only grew taller and taller, 

Does he still keep his keys on the top and forget? 

I bet, 

You’re still angry that he gave away those books 

That we read, hiding in little nooks 

From words that weren’t flooded by mama’s tears 

Angry that everything we said became shears 

Do you still like to look out windows

But not really go outside?

Tell me that you tried

To find me

How many seas

Have you crossed? 

I heard many

There’s plenty, of oceans inside of us

I will let this one flow

You can go 

I am writing from across time 

Your younger self, your crime 

Was none 

I forgive you, pay it forward to you.