Dear Z

There's a particular kind of stuck that happens between chapters, when you're no longer who you were, and not yet who you're becoming.

Write me a letter about something you're sitting with. Something hard, unresolved, or not yet nameable.

I'll write back on a handmade collaged postcard, made just for you, sent to your actual mailbox. Maybe it'll arrive at exactly the right moment.

This project is finding its shape as it goes. Some of it may eventually live online. If you're open to your words being part of that, they'll always be anonymized completely. That part is entirely your choice.

Otherwise it's just mail. Two strangers. A moment of feeling a little less alone.