The Sixth Letter

Dear A,

    Today I went out for a leather workshop. It was peaceful, hands-on, and surprisingly enjoyable. I met new people and ended up befriending two sisters. It made me realize how often my friendships come in twos. If I connect with one sibling, the other usually follows, like a quiet rhythm I didn’t know I’d come to expect. I’ve grown to appreciate that kind of closeness. The more the better, though too many voices at once can leave me feeling a little overwhelmed.

    I’ll admit, I expected too much from myself. I thought I’d pick it up easily, glide through the process with quiet confidence. But the moment I pierced the leather, I realized I was wrong. It humbled me. Still, there was something grounding about it. I lost track of time, focused only on my hands, the material, the slow rhythm of making something from nothing.

    And yet, even as I enjoyed the moment, my mind wandered to you. It always does. I’ve stopped trying to push those thoughts away. Instead, I let them rest where they are; not buried, not brought forward, just there, held somewhere in between. Existing without permission, without effort.

    The urge to tell you about the workshop was strong. To share the space, the tools, the stillness it brought. I think you would have loved it too. But I’m learning how to live my days without reaching for you. To return to the version of myself that moved through life alone - not unhappily, just differently. It’s something I once knew how to do. I’m trying to remember.

    Each time I shaped the leather, I had to stop myself from making something for you. The instinct was there, steady and familiar. But I reminded myself, gently, that I need to step back. I need to unlearn the habit of placing you in every new thing I touch. I need to remember how to create for myself.

    Maybe meeting new people will help soften this ache. Maybe unfamiliar names and fleeting conversations will give me space to breathe. Not to forget you, but to loosen your hold a little. That would be enough, I think. Just enough to feel light again.

    I’m not sure how long it will take. But today, for a while, I sat with unfamiliar faces and learned something new. My hands weren’t steady. My work wasn’t perfect. But I was there. And that, maybe, is a start.

Yours,
H