Do you remember when it became too much? When you sat across from me and I told you I had welded a key meant for unlocking worlds. I told you there was a place for you. That it was built for you. But not just you, and not just me. It was bigger. Do you remember?
And your hands began to melt all over the table. You reached for your glass but it slid right through. I cut my finger picking up the pieces. You lost your nerve trying to put it back together.
I shouldn’t have to apologize for starting a fire. We’re just atoms, we’re supposed to change state in heat. Vibrate faster, expand, become air. You’re going against your nature.
I can’t wait for you to grow.