Dear Wigleaf,

Soon I will be in paradise.

That's hard to imagine, isn't it? I always thought I had seen paradise: forests dripping in green, quiet rivers and hot buttery pretzels, maybe some mountains.

But the paradise I am going to is postcard paradise, and maybe that's why I am writing to you. Sandy beaches and marbled seas and coconut drinks. A man who loves me, who I love. No more tight chests or nervous breaths. Slow, warm days.

Did you know that my name means paradise? Maybe that's why I am easily swept away. A dreamer. Maybe that's why I am holding out hope.

I have never been in paradise before.

What is paradise to you?

Love,
Carlotta




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Read her story.

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