To Whom It May Concern: 2

Dearest Reader,

The last we spoke, I wished for your window- a window. By now, assuming you are like me, you've discovered the view. Welcome.

This window has probably been there since before I first wrote to you. You could have long since found your window; Maybe you gazed out into the vast deep blue pushing and pulling against the sand, maybe your window let out into clusters of light bulbs dripping in fog, or to a winding staircase you can't see the bottom or the top of. Maybe the staircase sways with the wind, the small cracks softly whistle with the streams or your thoughts, and the smell of new pages, evocative in the clouds, are completely difficult to forget or ignore.

Whether the view is a stranger to you or an old friend, I would like to say welcome. Sort of like a door mat, but in a good way. Like the way I saw one.

There I was standing at that door again. I was looking at my feet, down at the heels I don't wear enough. Standing there felt trivial, like rereading a mystery. I follow along with it's redirects and ignoring the red flags as they hide in their burrows waiting for the right moment. But despite Cass telling me I could just walk in and that I'm "welcome anytime" it felt wrong. So, I knocked and I waited for Philip to open the unlocked door that he was waiting for me behind. The door opens to a short little girl I know as Lilly. That was the one part of the mystery I always forgot, Philip never answers the door. 

"Hey Lilly, is he ready yet?" I say hoping to hide my nerves.

"He just got out of the shower, come in." she turned and walked away, unamused. 

I waited in the front room on the piano bench. Away from the rest of his family buzzing with excitement and his parents secretly anxious to claim bragging rights for raising a son that serves their church and its purpose. They were shipping him off to a 3rd world country to live for 2 years. A dangerous foreign Africa and they were so excited, so proud, so blessed. 

At this point I saw them as Hobbits, making fun out of giving away his things, never feeling the fear of losing him, or the grief. Not feeling at all how I was. He chose to leave me. He chose to let me go, as if I were a passing thought, and for what?

The ride there was short and quiet and we had arrived at the church before everyone else. The night had gone cold and dark and the neighborhood around us had settled with locked doors and prayers. I sat in the passenger seat, like I'd been for a year. He parked pulling the key out of the ignition and the quiet dropped to silence.

He sunk farther into the seat, his keys in his lap, his head resting on the head rest and he sighed.

This will be the last time we will sit in this car.

I couldn't look at him. I wanted to. I wanted to see his smile. I wanted to look in to his eyes. But I couldn't. My throat burned and my eyes threatened to fill with tears.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

 I still couldn't bring myself to speak. I knew if I opened my mouth my words would suffocate.

"Will you look at me please?" His voice was soft. I looked, my heart rose painfully in my chest. His dark brown eyes stare into mine. He seemed calm. He brought his hand to my face and kisses me and I kissed him. We pulled away.

That will be our last kiss

"I love you."

"I love you too."

"Good."

"Very."

At the moment that felt like the worst part, dear Reader, saying good bye. But the worst part was going home. By the time I did, the last words I said to him played through at least a thousand times. 

"Good bye, Mr. Missionary."....... Idiot.

 It felt as though someone cut out my heart and used the rest of me as a stencil to drive home. I got out of the car and started walking towards the door letting my heels sink into the wet ,grassy, soil until my feet came out and I left them behind. I kept my composure up the stairs and to the front door of my house, had my hand on the door nob, then I looked down. 'Welcome Home' it said, scrawled in its familiar font.

It had been there the whole time and it waited for me, everyday, just the same way it waited for everyone else that came to the door. Whether it was for a stranger or an old friend. It will say 'Welcome Home'. That night, it said it just the way I needed to hear it. Even though I was left behind, I still had this. I had my home, my window and its view. I was welcomed everyday, and I could let my stencil self bleed its ink into words.

So I guess I would just like to say Welcome, and thank you for opening my window.

Sincerely,

Ann Cost