My dear heart,

Persist. I know you are tired, enlarged, and weak. But I need you.

You rebounded when my 5th-grade crush married me at recess and broke you a little by marrying another girl the next day. You healed after friends’ moving trucks pulled away from the curb, enthusiastic tryouts yielded no results, and backstabbing friends spilled our secrets. Over the years, I fell in and out of love, and there you were, strengthening your broken parts after every heartache like beautiful Kintsugi pottery.

And I pushed you to the limits. Running, dancing, singing, and aerobics for hours on end. Sleep deprivation, processed food and Diet Coke, and reckless college and grad school days. You scoffed at me, but you never left–not once.

You sustained not one but two humans during three different pregnancies. Your steady, vigorous rhythms beat in complex syncopation with tiny, speedy ones. Smushed and forced to increase your output for nearly ten months each time, you happily complied.

And running after said tiny ones was no joke. While I was flying around the park chasing three shrieking girls as the Grumpy Old Troll, you fired on all cylinders. Over and over again, you drank the mother’s cocktail of sleep deprivation and self-neglect, and you never complained–you just powered up and gave me the strength to be a good mom.

Of course, when the girls were still little, lymphoma hit. Noxious chemo infusions, followed by radiation within inches of your beautiful, complex aortic system, did a number on you. You were scarred, drained of excess fluid in painful procedures, and changed forever. A heart can only take so much.

You nearly drowned in floods of cortisol and epinephrine over the years. You lost pieces of yourself during a crippling divorce, the deaths of beloved family members, and the bittersweet joy of children striking out on their own. More stressful jobs, more dubious self-care. But you. Never. Quit.

Despite your best efforts, the doctors declared heart failure. But I know you haven’t failed. You’re just getting tired.

Dearest heart, hang on. These days, I can barely feel you; it’s like you’re beating my tiny red drum with a soft pillow, and I can no longer hear. My numb, purple hands and feet are messengers of your exhaustion, my burning chest and gasping breaths your cries of despair. I know you’re weakening, and I promise to let you rest when I can.

I hope to get the call soon, but I’m waiting my turn behind other parents, sons, and daughters—deserving people who are sicker than I am. When the cardiologist finally opens my chest and sets you free, I pray I’ll retain your kindness, resilience, love, and compassion. You’ve served me well and have loved with abandon. My new heart could never fully replace you.

Until then, stay with me. We’ve been in this together always, you and me. I just need more time, and then I’ll give you the stillness you deserve.

I love you, dear heart.

It’s the weight of blankets in the morning’s hush,
The birdsong presented in the dawn’s first blush.
The cold floor beneath my waking feet,
The lingering scents that make spaces sweet.
The warmth of sunlight slipping through the blinds- a quiet echo of simpler times.
It’s the something in everything, subtle yet bright,
Existing without need for sight.
The way life hums in moments small,
A quiet presence embracing all.

Dear Aslan,

I don’t remember how old I was when I got you. I know that I’d read all of the Narnia books, obviously. I know that I was old enough to feel lonely. To need something physical to associate with the kind God my parents were always talking about.

You protected me at night by leading a hoard of other stuffies on guard duty. All of you, lined up along the edges of my bed like a fluffy fence. Most of you were on the ground by morning, and I liked to pretend that it was the result of furiously defending me against some dire enemy, rather than my own restless sleep punting you off the side.

And, of course you remember, my ever so thrilling venture into stealth on your behalf. I was at some sort of camp – God knows I don’t remember now. I didn’t know anyone, and if I did, I certainly didn’t have any friends among the people there. There was one girl though. I often gave my things away to other kids. Presents. I wasn’t about to give you away for good, of course, but I let her borrow you.

And immediately regretted it.

Getting you back was a masterclass in diversion, lies, sneaking around buildings, entering rooms through basement windows… all of that to snatch you away from where she’d put you in her dorm room for the week.

The closest I’ll ever get to spy craft.

College marked a bit of a decline, and potentially some humiliation. With you, I didn’t need a second pillow to hook my leg around as I slept. From defending me from bad things at night to making me more comfortable as I slept. It could be considered a downgrade, I suppose.

Well. You were getting older too, weren’t you? Your mane had already lost its fluffiness, but yes, it was the weight of my leg that eventually squished the stuffing out of your middle.

My foldable stuffed lion.

I’m old now. Maybe if I propped you up in my bed or cuddled you, you could still defend me from the things that come in the middle of the night. But, they don’t stop there anymore. Regret, grief, fear – these things aren’t polite enough to wait for the dark hours but haunt the light ones as well.

Maybe I should put you in my office. Have your slumping head lazily peer over my computer monitor. At the very least it might be fun to see your black bead eyes and bent whiskers looking at me inquisitively when my boss feeds into my imposter syndrome.

Imagining God’s words of confidence in me, of love for me, of pride for who and what I’ve become … or maybe just imagining forgiveness for who and what I’ve become… is beyond me. I can’t.

Imagining Aslan’s words, however…

I can do that.

Of course, I don’t.

I’m old, after all. The only time I see you now a days is when I am putting my daughter’s stuffed animals away for her, or when I look to your place at the top of her stuffy pile. You sit there, somewhat out of reach, not only because I told her to be careful with you, but also because she’s not quite as enamored with you as I was at her age.

That’s fine. Maybe you’ll never be anything but a slightly ratty lion with bent whiskers and a matted mane to her. But, although it gets less likely every day, maybe she’ll come to see you the way that I did.

As something that reminds her that she is loved. She is accepted. That every tear she cries counts for something.

As a reassurance that her pain does not go out into the universe unanswered. The answer can be found in the turn of a yarn stitched mouth silently promising, “It matters.”

You matter.

When she does take you down to play, it’s mommy who inevitably has to pick you up and put you back again.

Well. I don’t begrudge that. You don’t guard my dreams anymore. You don’t help me sleep.

But I can still hug you close as I walk across the room. I can still drop my chin to rest against your fur for a moment.

And you still make me feel better.

Every time.

Dear C,

I see you every day but sometimes there are just no words for me to express how I feel about you. Isn’t that ironic?

You can be so complicated sometimes and some days you leave me puzzled with your complex themes but that is exactly what I love most about you. I love the challenge you give me. You make the gears in my brain turn, which is good for me. You help me to focus, and you improve my vocabulary. You make me a better person.

C, you’re black and white, literally and figuratively. There is one way to figure you out and that familiar, inside the box (pun intended) routine of yours keeps me sane. There are days when you are easier on me which I also enjoy, but I especially adore when you give me some of that tough love.

These days we meet more often online, but I do miss the days where I was very particular and chose my best ink pens to meet with you. I know we both loved that! Solving you was and still is a highlight of my daily routine.

I look forward to seeing you every day and sometimes you are even on my mind when I’m doing other activities. As a parent now, my life has gotten so busy but my love for you has not changed. C, you bring me a special kind of peace and joy amidst my typically hectic schedule. In these quiet moments I can sit with you all alone, they are the ones that I cherish day in and day out.

Even though some may call you boring, you must know you certainly excite me. Thank you, my friend, for the many years we have had together and the many more to come. I look forward to solving all the old and new things you have to offer and to eventually share you and my love for you with my daughter when she gets older.

With love,
Andrea

Dearest Laughter, 

I am so in love with the contagiousness, the shoulder shakes mixed with giggles galore.

The outbursts of happiness. The side pains and wet pants. The rare occasion of “I can not breathe anymore!”

I love to hear familiar voices from the other end of the house with each individual’s sound erupting in an explosion of joyful entertainment. During a phone conversation, the happy reverberation that will stop all talk so I can momentarily enjoy it. 

I love you, Laughter. I love to hear you in any form you wish to present yourself. 

Especially from those closest to me. 

I will stop what I am doing anytime I hear someone laugh or giggle in my vicinity. You instantly awaken and move my heart. I want to sneak a peek around the corner and observe what is making it happen. I want to watch the actions and reactions of the person or persons involved. I just stand in the corner or half of the doorway. Tears well up in my eyes because I am overfilled with joy. I want to be a part of it, but I do not want to mess with whatever you are teaching.

In the grandchildren, it starts with the eyes. The eyes begin to sparkle, then a small smile grows and then out comes the most beautiful sound! The full on laugh! And once it starts, they want to keep it going. Each one wants me to continue making that silly voice, wiggling fingers toward their belly, or pretending to drop a ball. They begin to mimic the action to try to make me laugh, too. You are so contagious! 

The smallest things can start the giggle fire. Like a cat swishing its tail across the feet of the baby to make her laugh. The cat nonchalantly half looks toward the baby as the laughter fades, then swishes again! The cycle continues joyfully while I watch from my stove. You can present yourself instantly at family movie night where the whole room erupts in an outburst at the comedy scene on the screen. 

Small sound or large echoing, private chuckle or public outburst, at family reunion during picture slide time or intimate coffee and table time, you are always invaluable and available.

We must not forget game nights! Some games bring out the most competitive spirits in the room. But all bring plenty of laughter, teasing, fun, and memories. A family that laughs together is way more apt to carry you throughout their lives. A parent constantly worries and hopes they have instilled something for a legacy. I suppose making sure the kids can laugh with and at each other, equally, is a successful legacy trait. Lord knows they have laughed at me plenty of times. 

I remember one time, I was wearing my new apron I got for my birthday. When you are wearing something, you don’t really “see” it. It happened to be a replica of my favorite hero. This hero’s outfit for many years was like a one piece bathing suit. The image consumed the whole apron. As I exited the kitchen to sit down to eat, I caught a glimpse of myself in a glass reflection, I gasped, jumped back and folded my arms across my body in an attempt to cover myself. The roar of laughter from the kids and myself just killed any serious conversation for the next week I think. 

Sometimes, you can creep up on us in the most inopportune time or even in grief. We should never feel guilty about you always being with us. I read somewhere that laughter was a good medicine to take. Maybe that is why you show your lining at these strange times. Maybe it is your way of conveying “Control what we can and enjoy the rest.” Or maybe you are reminding us that deep down we need Laughter for balance in life. 

Beauty may be in the eye of the beholder, but you, Laughter, reside inside all of us. You are courageous, contagious, infectious, and present. Whether we believe we need you or not. You give strangers common ground, bring families closer, help heal wounds, and help us see the lighter side of life. Life and its struggles and responsibilities can drag us down. You, in your simplicity, lift us up. Thank you. 

Forever Yours,

Becky Reynolds

A thousand times I’ve created you,

Faceless and imaginary,

Your glorious rage only visible,

With your sweet irony,

Tangled in dark scribbles and typed words.

Your sweet voice can be heard,

echoing like a goddess’s harmony,

Like violins and volcanos.

I felt your fire burning the tips of my fingers,

and the pit of my stomach,

The hooks in my skin making me a puppet.

I tasted your essence,

You carry an insatiable hunger,

flavored with midnight and honey.

Your victory smells of defiance and compassion,

Both savage and sweet,

Darkness, violent and biting,

And heavenly rays of light which wrap around.

You are…

The only thing I have ever been proud of,

The only thing that makes life worth living,

The only thing I yearn for when I am happy and sad, alone or surrounded,

The only thing that’s truly mine but never only for me,

The only thing I am obsessed with,

Engrossed with,

You keep me pacing up late at night,

My hair falling out, and dark circles under my eyes.

You are the only thing that is not another human that I care about more than myself,

More than life.

You are a drug that gets me higher than ecstasy,

A drug I never have to come down from,

But the only thing that never leaves when I am sober again.

It doesn’t matter what I twist into,

What situation I find myself

Haphazardly bounding into,

You could never leave-

You would never leave.

I forget I am not you,

I am more…

I just leech your blood into my soul,

Like a vampire,

And let the magic possesses me.

I do what it asks,

I create it so I can see and feel it,

I write so i can understand, smell and taste it,

I sing so I can hear it,

I act so I can become…

I experience it through all of the senses,

The senses of the physical world and the ones reaching beyond.

Every person who lives for even a few moments,

Knows what I speak of…

It may not be recognized here, or ever…

But I know what it’s made of,

And it’s absolutely incredible,

Astonishing,

Inspiring,

Breath-takingly beautiful,

It saved my fucking life.

From suicide,

Whom I almost chose instead.

It saved my fucking life.

From being nothing but time that was wasted.

It saved my happiness,

My joy, my hope, my purpose.

It gave my pain, horror and darkness,

Reason to exist.

Answered the question,

Why?

Why me?

Because without the torment,

The darkness,

…and the ugly….

My echos in those beautiful songs-

The vivid worlds captured between the leather bonds of my written books-

The rainbow hues of a chameleon that appear on an actresses skin,

gleaming off the digital copy of myself-

They would not exist.

Because how could I help anyone escape darkness if I hadn’t done it my damn self?

I would have never attempted to sing, to write, or to act if I had not endured suffering that I desperately needed an escape from.

But I don’t escape my suffering anymore.

Now, I love it just as much as I love what it becomes.

I

Love

My

Talent.

100%

My Dearest Knitted Cardigan,

As time marches forward and we continue to grow older, I find it necessary to express my earnest feelings for you. From the moment I saw you, I knew we would be lifelong companions. Your complimentary shades of blue and brown fill me with tranquility and keep me grounded. When I need comfort and warmth, whether physically or emotionally, you are always there. I’ll never cease showing my gratitude and adoration for you. I hope, after reading this letter, you will understand the depth of the love I hold for you, and you will continue to live on with the knowledge and reassurance that my love for you will never waver.

When I reflect on our life together, I’m reminded of where we started. Although you first belonged to my mother, it isn’t a coincidence that she purchased you while she was pregnant with me. It seemed, even before my birth, our fates were intertwined. Looking back, I often wonder if, when you caught her eye from your position on the rack, she debated on if your chunky, knitted wool blend was practical in our southern climate, or what prompted her to decide that she would not leave that store without you. I wonder if she felt your warmth and comfort as she wore you, even while consoling me, a newborn unable to express my wants and needs. It’s amazing to think that, even as a baby, you could be there for me through my mother’s embrace. 

As a child, I remember admiring your various shades of neutral colors and your thick needlework, whether you were aiding my mother in her daily tasks of raising children, or while you were resting on the back of dining room chairs throughout the years. I would wrap myself in your knitted solace whenever the opportunity appeared. It never mattered that you swallowed me whole. Even back then, I knew I would grow up, making us a perfect fit. To others, you may have seemed like any other cardigan, but to me you have always meant so much more. 

As I grew older and began my journey as a young woman, you followed me from home to college. How would I have ever made it through college without you by my side? Moving away from my family into an apartment in the city, I knew I could persevere as long as I had you with me. From the early morning classes to the late night study sessions, you have always been faithful. Through the harsh winters, you were always there to shield me from the cold; when the summer came, you were there to give me rest at home after exhausting days of double shifts. Early mornings, we would sit together, enjoying coffee and watching the birds sing while sitting on my balcony; late nights, I would curl up in your close-knit embrace to enjoy a movie. You helped me survive sickness and heartbreak, granting me reassurance that things would get better while wrapped in your cable-knit love.

It’s crazy to think that you looked after my mother during her pregnancy, only to turn around 22 years later and accompany me on my journey of becoming a new mother. Bringing you to the hospital when my water broke was a given. I knew that once my beautiful baby was born, I would need you there to help me in my new chapter of life. Like the steadfast ally you’ve always been, you helped me through those late nights and early mornings again. Now, as I watch my baby grow up, I watch her sneaking you off the back of chairs just like I did at her age. Your love and warmth continue to be felt by everyone around you.

We are 30 years old now, and through those years you have changed so much, however my love for you has not. When you lost buttons or became subjected to pulls or snags, I never hesitated to doctor your injuries, restoring you to your splendor–A loving action never done out of obligation, but a kindness that would never repay all you’ve done. Anytime I look at you, I long to immerse myself in your woolen refuge, cherishing every memory I share with you like a blessing. I look forward to spending my mornings with you and a morning cup of coffee, watching the birds like we used to, from now until the end of time. You will always have a special place in my heart, and nothing will ever change that fact. 

All my love for you,

February 27, 2025
Dear Music,
Hello, I am writing this letter in appreciation for the beauty you bring to the world. I want to thank you for being universal. Life gets so tough at times. We deal with the day to day, as human beings we have a pile of stress with that comes much anxiety.
I just want you to know that you help humans find peace, you become the escape from all the hustle and bustle. Music, you are the sounds and notes put together to create a beautiful melody. Some don’t like you, I think it’s just because they don’t truly understand the impact you make.
Music when someone has memory loss or at the end of life you are what they remember, you also help us to remember others with a song. It’s like you’re built in; you know hard wired into the soul. You bring the best parts of humans out. When you hit our ears, our souls light up. It’s what connects us to our spirit. You bring happiness on the inside some of us can’t sit still, we have to let it out. Some might sway, while others get so ignited on the inside they have to dance!
Music you are at our literal fingertips, you produce such a bounty of blessing for humans when they pick up an instrument and play.
Tunes and melodies get stuck in our heads throughout our days. Lyrics fly off the pages as we immerse ourselves in the sounds you create. Not just any sound, the sounds of Joy as well and understanding that come from those lyrics.
In ending I want to say thank you for connecting me to God, preserving my peace, teaching me how to worship my creator whom I love, and being there when it’s hard for others to understand. Blessings!
Love Always,
Kristina J.

To the mark I leave behind,

You are the fire that drives me, the whisper in my soul that refuses to be silenced. Long before my hands touched ink or my voice carried weight, you existed—a shadow of what could be, a promise waiting to be fulfilled.

I have built you from struggle, carved you from sacrifice, and shaped you with love so deep it demands to be remembered. You are more than words on a page, more than echoes in time—you are proof that I was here, that I lived with purpose, that I refused to let the world forget me.

You are written in my children’s laughter, stitched into every lesson I have taught them. You exist in the stories I tell, the battles I have won, the kindness I have given—even when I had nothing left to give.

The world may one day forget my name, but it will not forget you. You will live on in the lives I’ve touched, in the hands that carry my work forward, in the echoes of every love I have left behind.

So I write this to you, my unwritten chapters, my unfinished song, my enduring fire—may you outlive me, outshine me, and carry forward everything I dared to dream.

With all that I am,
A man who refuses to be forgotten.

For so long, I craved a home, a “room of one’s own”, in the words of Virginia Woolf. It seemed like the more I wanted it, the more elusive it became.

Growing up as an older daughter, it was natural that I shared a room with my younger sister to accompany her through the scary night.

When I finally left home to pursue my dreams, my dad’s allowance only covered a shared room with friends, on a second floor in an overcrowded house in the suburbs. A shared room with a shared bed, a shared closet, a shared fridge. An overcrowded house that required turns to cook, to bathe, to do laundry. An overcrowded home where friendship was valued above all, but where I understood the importance of silence, of a moment to gather one’s thoughts, to decompress after a bad day. Those things had never been needed so badly until then.

I kept growing up, starting the climb up the corporate ladder, hearing of glass ceilings I wondered if I could shatter. Suddenly, I was 22, and Taylor Swift’s song captured exactly how I felt: freshly out of college and of my home country, with a bright future ahead. Naturally, I dreamed of having a glamorous apartment that reflected my new and improved life. But the pay wasn’t great, so I resorted to living with roommates in a far less sophisticated setting. In apartment 204 I learned that my bright future wasn’t so, that my good wasn’t good enough, that company can be solitude, that maybe I had been spoiled my entire life. I lived seasons of not wanting to go back home solely to avoid conflict. Then, I changed roommates and changed experiences, certainly improving, but still feeling the need to have a space that was uniquely mine. My own castle where I was queen and subject, and where my personality could shine at the turn of every corner.

Years passed, a pandemic hit, and after years of being in a relationship, I wondered if it was time to take it to the next level. My partner and I moved to a shiny apartment that promised to be everything I wanted out of life. But two years went by and only one piece of art hung in our many walls, solely because we couldn’t agree on that, or on anything. I looked around, and while beautiful and modern, the place felt like I didn’t live there, as if, ironically, there was no room for me. Perhaps we both couldn’t let go of our past identities to blend into one. Maybe I wasn’t ready to commit to shades of grey when all I wanted out of life was pastel hues.

When I decided to leave, I spent months without a home, moving from one friend’s house to another. It was the toughest period of my life, and I had never longed more for a place to lay down the weight I carried. I learned to make a room in my own heart, maybe as it always should have been. Nonetheless, I never stop wishing for a nest, big or small, it didn’t matter anymore; I wanted some place I could claim as mine, the Republic of me.

After what felt like a whirlwind, I finally received the keys to my very own apartment. After 30 years, five big moves, and a dozen smaller ones, I finally sat on the floor of my empty studio on August 11th 2023, appreciating it like a big white canvas I now got to paint with splatters and flowers and glitter and everything I fancied. I played Karol G’s song “Mientras me Curo del Cora” (While my Heart Heals), and made a list of essentials to set this new season of my life in motion.

Almost two years later, every morning, as I wake up and look around my beautiful little home, my heart rejoices as if seeing it for the first time. The process of making it distinctly mine, with all the pink accents, tokens of appreciation from friends and family, souvenirs of trips, pictures of my favorite moments, has been more magical and more rewarding than my wildest fantasies. This is the place where I can be me, where I can embrace my soul, let people in and also retire from the world. Where I can set and break my own rules. Where I can’t get enough of the smell of coffee and vanilla. Where I can have lazy mornings with my love or use those early hours to journal as I like. If I was asked about my favorite place in the world, without hesitation, I’d say: these four walls.

I love this apartment because of what it took, and because of what it means. It is a reflection of everything I am and everything that I hold dear. More than a need fulfilled it is a dream come true.

Red Tulips

Among this sea of tulips,
I fancied only the Red,
Not the Purple or Yellow,
Only Reds I pursue.

In each tulip bed,
I fancied only Red,
Not the Golden or Sky Blue,
Only Reds I’m gonna pluck.

Oh Red Tulip,
So beautiful are you,
When spring is here,
I just can’t pick one or two.

I long for a bouquet of Red Tulips,
Not the mixed colors for sure,
My quest is for Red,
And only the Red ones will do!

You tempt me, beckoning with sugared silk,
allure a golden promise whispered on the tongue.

I cannot resist.

Eyes drift closed,
chin rising as I inhale the intoxicating scent of you—
slowly, deliberately.
Exhale,
desire declared with silent hunger.

Teeth graze my bottom lip,
anticipation building
until your pliable stiffness yields,
enters my mouth in a welcoming embrace,
igniting on contact.
And then the explosion—symphony of maple
melting as I swirl my tongue,
exploring every nuanced velvet crumb,
every crystalline grain of bliss
in a slow cadence of flavor—sweet oblivion.
Each nibble, an encore—
from first taste to lingering ecstasy,
you fill me.

Dear Peace,

My greatest love is you. Fondly, I recall peaceful, happy times, now bittersweet and nostalgic memories. You were present at family gatherings. I would hear such wonderful and inspiring verses being read from the bible. Each waltz in the living room erased another day’s conflicts and errors. I longed for love and then I had a dream featuring you. Wheat and grass surrounded and overtowered me as I ran through the field. I noticed a hand in my grasp and while looking at him; I knew I was safe, and it felt like you. This meant I could stop running away from conflict. Not just physically, but the mental war. I just don’t feel like I fit in. I purposely observe others to learn how to communicate with others, so conversations can flow smoothly. Sometimes I envy others and how it seems like no matter how dumb their conversions seem to be, they laugh. Although my dumb remarks have sometimes drawn ridicule. Anyway, the times I have felt wronged in my life or accused of wrong-doings in my life by hypocrites are astonishing! Despite: Although provoked, I would cool off to avoid further mental distress. I’ve always kept my feelings concealed, and it always had worked. I’m not perfect and I’ve struggled with anger. Some days didn’t go as planned, leading me to snap verbally when someone annoyed me. A couple of physical attacks, most likely from a sibling or a family member. I like to avoid confusion because it feels like a mental nausea and unlike a headache; it doesn’t hurt. It just feels like there are tangled ropes in my mind. I’m not at ease when I’m confused because I freeze and I don’t react or speak and it becomes my dream paralysis, but this time I’m awake in real life. I struggle to respond, fearing judgment and ridicule. After COVID, I met someone, and it seemed like I had finally met you in real life. I couldn’t understand a single word he was saying to me; when the words that I knew would hurt me; they just didn’t hurt me. I must have been in a trance. I experienced a mental pause, like a video, and the lingering confusion became invisible. If he spoke beautiful words to me, I would recognize him as the one. I don’t know if he knew what to say, but when I felt like I was ugly, he complemented my outfit, making me feel like I was beautiful again. Exclusion was a regular feeling until I took part in group activities, even if they seemed foolish, like the conversations I envied. I wished to be a creative leader, but a lack of confidence held me back. I once gave a speech. When I was done, I saw him smile and whisper it was creative. The days I felt dumb, he called me smart. My last encounter with him, I had felt foolish. He told me I was wise. His departure made me feel as though you had also left. My mind resumed the video, increasing my confusion; Or maybe, used to you, that confusion felt odd. Confusion came back to haunt me. It still has not become clear to me if this interaction was an angel of peace, an addictive drug, a trick, or the devil’s illusion, because I can’t quite remember the ill words if he ever did. He gave me what I desired to hear. Before covid, I functioned chaotically, yet somehow thrived under stress. I want to be clear that understanding social cues was difficult, and I felt it often took me much longer than others, no matter how much I desired the opposite. Even amidst the world’s relentless pace, your patience remained through him. When I didn’t want to talk, you would ask me, and I froze and I hesitated, but you asked another time, making it seem you would listen and be patient with me when nobody else would, and I thank you for that. Since I’m aware he is gone forever, I still hope to see you again. I experienced these peaceful memories, despite their addictive nature. I will always remember you and cherish all those memories in my heart.

Dear Wobbly
You were my pride and joy. The world seemed like a better place with you in it. You made everything bright and colorful. Now, I find myself seeing the world in a different shade.
When I saw you in the yard staring at a butterfly. I loved you at first sight. Then you got up to chase it and my heart broke into. You were wobbling side to side your back legs you could hardly use. I tried to catch you, but you ran away. I was so surprised at how fast you were given your state. You finally trusted me and I brought you to live inside. I smile even as I write this. I put pillows down all over the house. So you won’t fall and hurt yourself; even though you wobbled, you still loved to climb. You loved cuddles and kisses. You loved being squished. You would cuddle for hours.
Nevertheless, nothing lasts forever, and it broke my heart when you began to fade. I knew you would die, they told me so, but I never thought so soon. For six wonderful years, you were mine, and I cherished every day with you. It broke my heart to let you go. The world seems so empty without you. You would light up the room with your wobbly walks and beautiful face. I know you won’t want me to be sad forever, but everything’s grey without you. I miss you every day. You brought me joy, and now there is sadness in its place. I don’t feel whole with you gone. It’s like you took a piece of me with you. You will always be in my heart and I hope someday to see you again. However, until that day comes I will live with knowing you were loved and I took care of you well. For a brief moment you were a piece of heaven I held in my arms each day. I hope someday to once again see your beautiful face.

Love Nanette.

Ocean,

I used to hate you, but now I love you.

I thought you were too messy when I met you. Your grains of sand would stick to my clothes, find their way to my hair, and slip into the cracks of my shoes’ soles. Whenever we would part ways, there would still be little reminders of you on me. God, it was annoying. It was like I couldn’t shake your existence.

You were so salty. When I took a dip in your cold water, I would taste it in my mouth. You soured my breath, and I felt dirty around you. Your seaweed would wrap around my legs, as if begging for me to stay in the water. I found that rather clingy. For a while, I refused to touch you, Ocean.

It was so infuriating how everybody loved you, like you could do no wrong. People called you beautiful and peaceful, compliments pouring out of their mouths like waterfalls. They would take pictures of you. Paint pictures, even. They would travel for hours to see you. Maybe I was envious of you. I wanted to be liked as much as you.

But as I grew up, you grew on me. I realized what people see when they idolize you. Being around you makes me feel calm. You made me realize there is so much more to this world, beyond your horizon. You put me at ease. Your sound is like a lullaby that could put me to sleep.

I love you when not everybody does. There’s a unique charm in your winter coldness that I adore, far more than the summer warmth everyone else loves. Because you are cold like me, yet I still find you beautiful. We were more alike than I thought. You are more peaceful in the wintertime because I only share you with a few other people. You sit with me and let me process my thoughts, which can become overwhelming in such a hectic world. You are there for me without saying a word. Sometimes, words do not need to be spoken to make somebody feel better, and that you understand.

Through all four seasons of the year, you were there for me. I am grateful to have known you for so long because some people will never meet you. You remained a constant in my tumultuous life. You are something I can depend on and see when I need to take a breather from everyone and everything around me. Time and time again, I have stared at you for hours and have not gotten bored.

You have shown me beauty from your vastness. I am a speck in the grand universe.

Thank you, Ocean, for showing me how little everything matters in this world. I get caught up in my anxiety that every small action I take will have an exponential impact on my life. You remind me life is so much greater than my microscopic mistakes.

I love you, Ocean, and I am eternally grateful for you.

Love, Chloe