Dear T

Remember when I told you this last week after L hurt me so much with her ice cold email saying my notes were stored in a sealed archived file under her desk?
You T are fully human and you are not afraid of others' full on humanness. I do not live in your file. You do not need to contain me in an archive box. You don't need to store me out of sight under your desk. You don't need to keep your feet on the lid of the box so I can't leap out and overwhelm you. You keep me in your life. Between the books by your bed, on your Christmas tree, in your daughter's party bags, on your phone, on trains and in shops and at the hairdresser. I live in your life and you are not afraid.

Today you cemented all that in a way I never imagined. You have always let me see pictures of your daughter in your office. Today you mentioned a photo her nanny had texted you, and I asked to see it. You said of course I could. I said 'on my phone?'. I was trying to pick a fight, T. It was something I knew you'd certainly say no to, and then I could be angry with you. You sent me the picture. It is the most surprising thing you have ever done. I cried. Not because of the picture, but what it means. My worst fear is that I am twisted and dangerous and shouldn't be allowed to live. You, who know more of the bad and fearful things about me than anyone else, trusted me with a picture of your most precious thing. Is that why you did it?