Dear you, I'm sorry you had to hear a sigh of disbelief from my end of the phone line, when you were trying to convince me that it's not all my flesh that you fancied. The people around this place had already made me believe, I wasn't loveable.

Dear you, I'm sorry about the time none of them in your family believed your truth.  When you were sobbing into a puddle of tears and babbling that you didn't even touch her, in a gasping, broken voice. The people alongside had already deluded their thought process. I believe you. If only she confronted them too.

Dear you, I'm sorry for when you couldn't decide what you wanted for yourself, or maybe you did but couldn't stand up for yourself. You fell apart after choosing what others made you believe you should. I'm sorry for all the times, you had to choose them over yourself. For all the times you tried to love them a little more and yourself a lot less.

Dear you, I'm a tad bit sorry for all the times I had a breakdown while we were trying to make love or now and again when it made you feel like you were wrong somewhere, and you didn't even let out a sigh. I'm not very proud of my narratives with men before. consensual touch is still quite alien to me.

Dear you, I am sorry for all the times you felt like you don't belong or sharing a shoulder was a shame. No, you deserve all the love that there is. The people around you don't know better. But you and I, we do. And we will survive this. You can be whoever you feel like. Let's lift the load together shoulder to shoulder. And never stop being artists, please.