Dear Dystrophin,
Did I ever tell you how much I miss you? I often look through my childhood photos and remember how good we were together. It was you and me, partners in crime, unafraid of all things ahead. Though I’d fall on occasion, you were there to pick me up… off I went again. I long for the soles of my feet to hit solid ground, as I prepare for the acceleration towards an infinite beyond.
There’s nothing more I want than to close my eyes to the ecstasy of strength that runs inside my veins, but those moments have long since faded. All that remains are the traces of your existence. I wonder where you are, dearest love. I’d sacrifice anything for our rekindled romance.
Upon my darkest hours, I was an eight year old boy, alone in the playground with a basketball pole. The pointlessness of yelling sank in as I realized everyone had left, but you whispered in my ear that everything would be okay. It was an impossible feat, trying to find a grip under the extreme summer heat, yet my faith resided in your voice. I created possibility in you.
Mom tells me that in heaven above, I’ll possess the ability to fly. The truth is that I’d rather walk, hand-in-hand with you by my side. I don’t need to be Superman, just normal, like everyone else. I’m dying without you, both inside and out.
Your ghost still lingers, somewhere within these muscle fibres of mine. I’m grateful for the remnants of you and I find pleasure in our memories. Darling, everything is a mess, now that you’ve gone. You’re my missing protein, the membrane surrounding my cells, my voluntary strength and mass. I hope you know that I never gave up on you, for my heart continues beating, only to find our unity.
Will you coat me in your touch once more, so this deterioration will finally cease? I’m tired of existing without living. I think I paid my dues.
Love,
Ricky
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