Letter Two

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Dear Page,

If I close my eyes,
I can still see the old Page.

The girl with the short pixie cut
and upturned nose.
High cheekbones and
wicked gleam of the eyes.

It was like an ethereal Pixie had leaped off the canvas
and into my waning life.

You, surrounded by mountains of baked goods and men
you had no interest in.

I don't believe in Angels.
But if I ever did,
I know you'd be one.

My Angel Page.

I've said it a million times
and I'll say it a thousand more.

Thank you.

Thank you for saving me from Quill.
Thank you for giving me the air to breathe when my legs didn't have the strength to walk.
Thank you for stripping away Stella's shame.
Thank you for walking Samuel through his unwanted body.
Thank you for taking away they and giving me she.
Thank you for undoing all of Quill's toxic work.
Thank you for helping Feebs and I find our way back to each other.
Thank you for teaching us both about gay and lesbian and trans and you.

Nonbinary.
They.
I looked at you after weeks of being blind and saw you.
They.
That label stuck,
just like you wanted,
and it fit.
It fit.

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