About the work

A closer look.

You have a letter you will never send. To the one who left. To the parent who cannot remember you. To the friend you stopped calling, or the version of yourself you buried, or the thing that ended before you got to say anything true. Tell me the specific thing. One paragraph is enough, or ten. I write the letter back. Not comfort. The true thing once, set down so you can read it, feel it land, and put it away. What you get: one letter, up to 600 words, written for your subject in your words as far as I can hear them. One revision. Delivered as a document you keep. You never have to send it, and I will never ask whether you did.