Letters from friends: I'm going to open you. I need it.
When I started this trip, friends and loved ones gave me little letters to take on my journey, to be opened when times were tough. to be reminded why I am out here and the people standing by my side.
I expected to open a lot and was worried I'd have them all opened in fast order and have none left.
I opened one in Nicaragua.
I may be opening one this weekend.
I think I need it.
It is a photo of a white dog wearing sunglasses, catching wind with his head out the window of a car. Looking like he's on an adventure. The back of it says "to be opened on your trip."
The ink is blotchy and uncrisp, from when Xiomara's hole in the wall from where my sink fell off spurted water for god knows how many hours and flooded my bedroom. She took all of my things off the floor, where most were, and dried them carefully in the blazing sun hot enough to cook a freaking chicken, and I can read them all, but they are waterlogged and dried.
He's going to stare at me tonight, and keep me company as I sleep, then be the first thing I wake up to.