رحيمة

“Dear Iris, Should I be surprised that I was falling in love with you a second time? Should I be surprised that your words found me here, even in the darkness? That I’ve been carrying your E. letters close to my heart like they are a shield to protect me? I know we are no longer rivals, but if we are keeping tally like the old days, you have far outshined* me with your wit and your courage. Which reminds me of one simple thing: how I love to lose to you. How I love to read your words and hear the thoughts that sharpen your mind. And how I would love to be on my knees before you now, surrendering to you and you alone. For the past few weeks, I thought you were nothing more than a dream. A vision that my scrambled mind created to process the trauma I couldn’t even remember. But the moment I touched you, I remembered everything. And now I see that all this time, every night when I dreamt, I was trying to bring all the pieces back together. I was trying to find my way back to you. I don’t know where you are now. I don’t know how many kilometers have come between us again, and I don’t know what awaits us in the days ahead, but I will give you as much information as I can so long as you promise me that you will be very careful. I know this is a strange thing to say—we are a country at war, and nowhere is safe. All of us must risk and sacrifice something dear to us—and yet I could not bear it if corresponding with me brings the end for you or gives you a burden that is too heavy to bear. If you agree to this, write me back. If you don’t agree, still write me back. I want to know your thoughts. I confess that I am hungry for your words. Love, Kitt”
― Rebecca Ross, Ruthless Vows