Dear You,
It's been a while since I wrote to you. So much has happened in between this letter and the last. It is already the seventh of October and I won't be sixteen for long. But I want to write to you while I still am. I want to tell you that the world is still beautiful as it was when Summer had just begun and so many stories have grown by the end of it. The wind at my window is an introduction to winter and I know I will learn to love its silence. But for now, I am alive and I am breathing, I am what I am now, I am quiet and I have three unread books by my bedside and they are friends.
Last night the sky was alive. I lost count of the stars and that's when I knew I didn't have to hold on to everything. I didn't have to take a picture of everything and I didn't always have to remember. You can sit under the night sky and stare out in the distance and you can be a part of a painting nobody is going to paint, a poem nobody is going to write. And that's alright too. Because it's all the words I don't write and all the words I don't speak that overwhelm me and sometimes they can just rest in my memory. Like last night's moon and how I could almost reach out for it. Almost.
It's a good day if I can see the sunshine. It's a good day if I can still speak and it's a good day if I can still hear the littlest of sounds that let me know that there is still life around me. It's a good day as long as I can believe in it. Sometimes the faith slips away, but I try to go looking for it. And when I go looking for it, it comes back to look for me. And if I can just learn to love it, we can always keep finding each other and it will help me pull through. Again and again.
God was always kind. I do not think prayers are God's promises. I do not think we will always get what we pray for. If you ask me what is going to fill the gaping hole that disappointment leaves and if you ask me what will help you fill your voids and if you ask me what to do when the silence gets too loud, I would always ask you to Pray. Those prayers don't magically untie knots you're struggling with, but they do give you strength to try to figure it out yourself. And there are so many miracles around us that we could never recognize if we do not find the strength to believe in our prayers. And I think while sometimes our prayers don't bring us what we want, they bring us better things. Infinitely better. And that's enough reason to keep going.
For life, for hands and for a good Sunday breakfast, I am infinitely thankful. I am infinitely blessed.
Thank you for listening.
Love,
Me.
It's been a while since I wrote to you. So much has happened in between this letter and the last. It is already the seventh of October and I won't be sixteen for long. But I want to write to you while I still am. I want to tell you that the world is still beautiful as it was when Summer had just begun and so many stories have grown by the end of it. The wind at my window is an introduction to winter and I know I will learn to love its silence. But for now, I am alive and I am breathing, I am what I am now, I am quiet and I have three unread books by my bedside and they are friends.
Last night the sky was alive. I lost count of the stars and that's when I knew I didn't have to hold on to everything. I didn't have to take a picture of everything and I didn't always have to remember. You can sit under the night sky and stare out in the distance and you can be a part of a painting nobody is going to paint, a poem nobody is going to write. And that's alright too. Because it's all the words I don't write and all the words I don't speak that overwhelm me and sometimes they can just rest in my memory. Like last night's moon and how I could almost reach out for it. Almost.
It's a good day if I can see the sunshine. It's a good day if I can still speak and it's a good day if I can still hear the littlest of sounds that let me know that there is still life around me. It's a good day as long as I can believe in it. Sometimes the faith slips away, but I try to go looking for it. And when I go looking for it, it comes back to look for me. And if I can just learn to love it, we can always keep finding each other and it will help me pull through. Again and again.
God was always kind. I do not think prayers are God's promises. I do not think we will always get what we pray for. If you ask me what is going to fill the gaping hole that disappointment leaves and if you ask me what will help you fill your voids and if you ask me what to do when the silence gets too loud, I would always ask you to Pray. Those prayers don't magically untie knots you're struggling with, but they do give you strength to try to figure it out yourself. And there are so many miracles around us that we could never recognize if we do not find the strength to believe in our prayers. And I think while sometimes our prayers don't bring us what we want, they bring us better things. Infinitely better. And that's enough reason to keep going.
For life, for hands and for a good Sunday breakfast, I am infinitely thankful. I am infinitely blessed.
Thank you for listening.
Love,
Me.
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