everything is a love letter By Hadley Vaillancourt

everything is a love letter.

he was a swimmer when

i met him. when i watched him

move the water like the strength of all things, i thought only god could

do that. he was a swimmer

when i met him, and he was up

at four-thirty in the morning until

nearly midnight. and i didn’t think about it much. the weekends were ours.

it was the thing he did so

i stood behind it. i didn’t get

a good view. i tapped every syllable

he spoke, onto my leg, but when he

started talking about his brothers,

i had to stop. it was too fast. everyone

cries at goodbye– only men hide it in a hug.