To the Shoemaker in Ajah.

Teach me how to stitch what i spoilt.

Dear Shoemaker on the Other Street,

I do not know if you will remember me. I used to come to you with my broken shoes. The old ones that looked too damaged to save. I would hand them to you quietly, ashamed, and you would just nod. You never asked what happened. You never made me explain. You would just say, “We can fix it.”

Those words carried me through more than you will ever know. Because when you fixed those shoes, it felt like you were fixing me too. You gave me a reason to walk again, even when everything in me wanted to stop.

But today I have nothing for you to hold. No shoes. No thread. Just this letter and the pieces of something I destroyed myself. I have broken something important. Something that mattered. And I do not know how to fix it.

I cannot sleep. I keep thinking of your hands, how calm they were, how you never rushed the repair. You always worked gently, even when the damage was bad. You made things whole again. I keep wishing I could bring this to you too. The thing inside me that will not stop hurting. The mistake that keeps tearing open.

Please tell me what to do. Tell me how to start. How do you fix something when you are the one who caused the damage? How do you stitch it back when you are the one who pulled the thread loose? How do you make anything walk again when you are the reason it fell apart?

I have tried to mend it on my own, but everything I touch only breaks more. I am so tired. I am so sorry. I do not know how to stop being sorry.

You always said, “We can fix it.” So please, I am asking you again, not as someone with broken shoes, but as someone broken inside. Tell me how to fix it. Tell me what to do when I cannot forgive myself.

If you have an answer, please write back. Even a few words. Anything. Before I lose what is left of me.

Yours,
Yvonne