How can an old me exist in the past?
Or does this prompt require me to fast
Forward
A message in a bottle from my sequel
Versions of “I” and “me” deemed unequal
Jagged glass, tossed about the sea, deemed polished
An unavoidable trajectory praised or admonished
Am I ever new, if perpetually used?
If the old us is younger, are we not confused?
Bemused
The past and future writing in the present tense.
Therefore I choose, to write from the end. Stanzas stacked, likely not to comprehend
(Lest you choose to read from the end to here. Or both, for you have free will, my dear)

Your dear friend
The older, new me, most sincere
I’m typing it early, for this hemisphere
I hope this doesn’t reach you too late
The last we spoke, “is not” wasn’t “ain’t”
Do you still like to paint?
An emotional state of inclusivity
Your interpersonal, personality
An ephemeral state of relativity
Will be
The small that you were, and you are, and
Or plummeting down hill
From slowly ascending
Glad to see you still find a thrill
Lie
Yet the imagery of a heart, is a symmetrical
The muscular breakdown of a thigh
Similarly, the tension of a bicep
Our chest
Inside
How strange to know what a heart looks like
Stare
You’ve observed, despite being told not to tear
You’ve stretched knowing that you could
Omnipotence
Accepting a life in pursuit of infinite
Ignorance
My how you’ve found bliss, devoid of
Good evening, self

-Load the car and write the note-

Moving out was terrifying. I enjoyed the first few weeks in my apartment alone.
I was rarely alone when I was with my ex. I depended on him. To get to school, to get to work, to get to rehearsal, to eat, to have a place to sleep, etc, etc. I had to pay a price for all of that. Nothing comes for free.

-Grab your bag and grab your coat-

I remember leaving his house for the last time. I packed that morning as fast as humanly possible. I forgot a lot of things. He kept begging me not to leave, I kept begging to go. I got dressed in my own clothes for the first time in a hot minute. Normally I just grabbed his because mine were always trapped behind the headboard.
I didn’t know it was the last. His hand curved into my inner thigh, the country road we had driven on for nearly two years rolled by until it disappeared into the highway. He dropped me off and my parents greeted him warmly, and hugged him and I think I realized then I hated him.

-Tell the ones that need to know-

My best friend and I got together a little after I got home so I could tell them everything about my ex and I.
And this guy I just met.

Their mouth was agape the whole conversation. I told them I didn’t think my ex was a bad guy, Cole said that was because I haven’t experienced a good one yet.I told them about this guy I met and there was hope in their eyes.

What if this guy was lulling me in with false promises like everyone else before?

-We are headed north.-

We broke up. He left me. I finally reached out to this guy and… the rest is just confetti.

-One foot in and one foot back-

I open up a little just to resend everything I just said. I’ve been told before that I’m “too much” and yet somehow, “not good enough,” at the same time.

I had two people I adored when I was growing up. They were my best friends. They weren’t the best of friends.

One of them called my self harm scars “stupid people scars.” Said I was only doing it for attention, though I never intended for anyone to see them. If I wanted to be effective I should just full-send it and make the little white lines vertical. I opened up to him only for him to say I was too much and that I was crazy and occasionally throw it back in my face.

-But it don’t pay to live like that-

When we were in high school, he caught my ex hitting me, he stepped in and tried to get me out.
When I was going through the worst of my disordered eating habits, he bought me food and sat with me.
He confused me. I believed in my heart he loved me. I still do. I think he just didn’t know how to love right. When he met his boyfriend and they fell in love, I think the two of them learned from one another. They’re still very happy together in their own place. We don’t talk, but, the last time we did, he said that he hopes I get everything I want out of life. And that he’ll be there. His boyfriend and him are planning to get engaged.
I think my boyfriend and I could be like that.

-So I cut ties and I jumped the track-

When we stopped talking, my best friend and I got closer and I got happier. Stress about extracurriculars and homework was all I had to worry about. Life was good. My senior year of highschool was one of my favorite periods of my life.
The other is right now.

-Never to return-

-Oh, Brooklyn, Brooklyn, take me in-

I met my boyfriend at a summer camp. We were both counselors. The counselors were all talking about this, that and the other. I initially wanted to get out of there, but this guy I had just met started talking about video games designed to be difficult.
I was on a Fear and Hunger kick, I hoped he would know the game. He didn’t. He said it reminded him of another game, I said that it reminds of a book, and so on and so on.
Suddenly thirty minutes pass and I’m sitting on the table in the makeup room talking candidly about life, books, video games and art with someone who might as well have been a stranger. But I was hooked.

He looked at me with a kind of recognition that you don’t see terribly often. Like he already knew me. The strange thing was, I felt like I knew him too.

-Are you aware of the shape I’m in?-

When I started having panic attacks at camp, I was fucking embarrassed. I had kept my composure in front of strangers all my life, until right then.

He came in— and I guess he wasn’t really a stranger. He coaxed me through it, though anxiously because he was paranoid about how people would take it. Us— in a room— completely alone.
I could not help that I was drawn to him. I let him see that I was not infallible. I felt closer to him every second we spent together.

Is that wrong of me?

-My hands, they shake, my head, it spins-

We were watching the play at Pocket Sandwich Theater and I knew I needed to make that leap. Just to take his hand.
My brain kept screaming this could just be another game. He could be saying all these sweet words and writing all these beautiful poems just to lure me in.

It wouldn’t be the first time. My first boyfriend told me his dream was to be a teacher with me, and that students would think we were adorable.
He told me after we had been dating for nearly a year that his dream was to take my virginity.

My most recent ex told me his dream was to go to Chicago and be a famous actor, and to have me waiting at the stage door for him.
But what about my stage door? Would he have ever shown up?

But my heart was so sure with this guy what I wasn’t sure with the others.
I could actually see a couple years ahead. It was messy and a little undefined, but the vision was there.

I took his hand. The momentary shock as my fingers laced around his, those beautiful grey and blue eyes widened like I had done something unfathomable.
The smile he gave me, as he wrapped his other hand around ours.

-Oh, Brooklyn, Brooklyn, take me in-

-When at first I learned to speak-

My mother said I learned to talk before I walked. My first word— well to be more accurate it was a sentence.
“Where is it?”
Ironic with my ADHD.

-I used all my words to fight-

I was a terrible person as a middle schooler. I was filled with rage and hormones and everything that I once knew changed.
I was filled with depression that I didn’t understand was depression.

I pushed my friends as far as they would go. I felt so guilty every time that I’d grovel and apologize. Rinse. Repeat. Suddenly not a little girl anymore. I hated myself. My friends didn’t understand. I hated them too.

I bullied, and I seethed, and I said things that I should have never thought, much less said. Much less believed to be true.

-Ah, but it’s just a waste of time-

My best friend and I went to a cabin out in the country for their birthday.
One night, we sat in the bed, and we cried. I apologized for everything I had done when I was a middle schooler. They did too.
We hugged.

-Yeah, it’s such a waste of time-

-Three words that became hard to say-

Fear is a nasty thing. Anxiety and depression too. It’s unfair that your own mind can want to not be alone, yet force you to be lonely. Then yell at you for it.

“I need help.”

Those became so hard.

“I miss you.”

I say those often to a lot of different people. My friends back home, my kids, my boyfriend. I miss them all, truly.

-I and Love and You-

I struggled to say it to my boyfriend when I knew I should’ve. It happened at the right moment that’s true and I’m very grateful for how perfect that first moment was. But—

There was a night where we were playing Minecraft together and I almost said it.

He was so excited about the house. He noticed all the little red details I put everywhere for him. He said no one had ever put such thought into surprising him with something.
I almost said, “it’s because I love you, duh.”
But I didn’t.

-I and Love and You-

I wanna be able to look in the mirror and not examine it. I want to see my features and smile.
I want to enjoy my face reflecting back at me.
I want to like it, to the point that I don’t even acknowledge it.

This morning I got up to take a shower before class. I peeled off my boyfriend’s shirt, and neatly folded it next to the sink. I looked up to grab a hair tie and—

I liked the way my body looked. I like the curvature of my waist, the shape of my breasts, the way my hair fell behind my shoulders even though it was a bit unkempt.

I liked my face. That’s the hard thing to like about myself. As an actor you spend so much of your time examining and painting your face. As an autistic person, I used to practice making facial expressions in the mirror to look more natural. I am so used to my face. Normally, I try to avoid staring at it.
But I looked at the color of my eyes, their asymmetrical shape, the fullness of my lashes—
I looked at my lips, redder and a bit drier than normal, they’re always a little more red after my boyfriend leaves cause his scruff scratches me—
I looked at my nose, I usually hate it. But today I thought, “I look nice.”

I think— I think everyday I get closer to it. Not by much, and it’s never consistent but it has happened more and more as the years go by.

I’m so close to looking in the mirror and saying it.

-I and Love and You-

My baby girl
With bouncing curls
You are the light of my life
Day and night
You bring sunshine and smiles everywhere you go
My heart aches with how much I love you so
I don’t know where I’d be
If there were no you and me
I can’t imagine a life without you
I honestly don’t know what I do
I’m so lucky to watch you grow
I love you more than you’ll ever know

In 2013, something horrid happened to me. It didn’t happen to just me, or affect me the most. It was a betrayal that left me and my children unsafe.

For years, I disregarded how this affected me as I focused on how it affected others I love. How it affected me became a small side story. So, for years, I didn’t bother acknowledging my personal hurt. I had huge obligations to assist others through their journey toward ok-ness. Those others are my children.

What happens then, if there is no ok-ness for me? I’m about to tell you.

The first thing was tears. It was about ten months of tears every night. By myself, alone. For all of us. In waves. During the day, I was raising kids. At night, I was grieving my wounds and losses.

Next came denial. Maybe we can live with this? After all, we aren’t dead and it’s surely been misery, but what’s the way out of misery? Others I loved chose denial, and it seemed to work for them. Some who got hurt are still using denial to cope.

One day, like a lifting fog, I realized denial costs too much. Almost immediately, intense anger replaced my denial.

It’s exhausting to be perpetually angry. Being the body of all-consuming anger is only useful if it leads to justice, and, sadly, it didn’t.

Numbness replaced the anger. God faded into meaninglessness. Emotions faded from red to pastel pink. The duty to continue to exist remained, and that was all I could manage.

For years.

For a decade.

I became a pale version of myself. I could function, raise kids, held down a complicated job. I paid my mortgage and took showers and cooked meals and taught my kids skills to live. Kind of.

If I could have been a better version of myself, I could have taught them more than the bits I managed. I guess I taught them to persevere. The struggle became normal. I thought I had pulled it off, this existing after horror gig. I believed I had healed. What I had actually done was to mute emotions and function in logic as a self protective mechanism. It was very effective; I felt functional. I had emotions, I just vetted them. Numbness was surviving. I felt safe enough to go on.

It took 11 1/2 years for me to fully face my healing. Finally, I could leave safe logic and dulled existence on the table to pursue a little authentic joy.

At first it was scary to feel emotions with some intensity. Emotions can lie! Slowly I let them lead me to some old loves: baking, drawing, building, painting, sewing, exploring, dancing, writing. Can I do it? For myself? And can I survive feeling it? Can I forge trusting relationships with others? Can I trust myself? The world is again wild with color, after so many years of color washed out by pain. Will I choose healing or familiar pain?

Not every day goes too well. Some days I retreat. This healing journey will take more time. But now, instead of hiding behind logic, I use creativity to process life, to feel myself heal, to be alive.

This is like waking from a trance. It is stepping back into my authentic self after an absence.

It is nice to recognize the person inside; although I am much older and much more worn, I have a hard fought value. I am here.

Style score 100%

I don’t really have to think what is blossoming in my life, 2025 is a growing year, You have a Drive that while you have BAD DAYS, yet You push on, You are working on Starting Your tire shop after hours and it’s GOING TO BE AMAZING, you DON’T QUIT, This year is Your year and GREATLY things are happening from a Dodge charger ( hemi motor) to your business will be running within a few months) The clowns are taking off , Who knows what else is going to happen, NOW is my time.

I have thought and thought about the old me , and honestly no matter how long I think or think of the old version, there’s no old version.I have watched myself and the younger me, and through it all, I have always faced obstacles and have always had to overcome from graduating early in school to your mechanic career, the younger me would say YEP you just got older but your drive GOT STRONGER, you never quit and at times Maybe you should have.You helped your family and Never backed down.GREAT JOB,IM PROUD of you.So in finishing, DON’T CHANGE, IM PROUD OF YOU

Do you remember me?
The girl you used to be, before, well… Everything I guess. I know you have blocked me out, and in a way I guess I don’t blame you, but from time to time I wish you would think about me.
Do you remember me?
I am quiet, kind, and spend a lot of time on my own. I wish you remembered that it’s not a bad thing to be alone. Not all company is good company, and if you aren’t content in your own presence, then why would you expect anyone else to be? I understand that your mind is a frightening place these days, but maybe running from the memories is part of what is making you hold onto them.
Do you remember me?
I am the girl that used to cry when I got in trouble, and I have an obsession with Barbie dolls. I wish you remembered how much I love to take care of them. You did the same thing with your daughters when you had them, and it would be better for them and you if you hadn’t worried so much about throwing your middle finger in the air at everyone for what they said about you as a mom as soon as you got a taste of rebellion and a bad attitude, and instead focused more on how you actually were as one. You really only proved them right in the end. For a while anyway.
Do you remember me?
I am dorky I guess. I go to plays with my Grandma, and play dress up with my cousins. Girls night with my friends are what I look forward to often. You wouldn’t know what that’s like anymore. You avoid Grandma because her dementia is getting worse and you know it’ll hurt less if you don’t see her much before she goes. Plus you couldn’t bear to see Papa like that. Nevermind the fact that family is probably the only thing holding him together. And girl friends? What the hell are those? You’ve given those up and replaced them with men. I wish you could spend a night with your best friend, sipping “happy tea,” and watching Anchorman, laughing so hard you cried. You might recall what it feels like to have a real kinship with someone that you don’t share a bed with.
Do you remember me?
I harbor innocence and imagination. The thought of even kissing the person that I like is enough to send shivers up my spine. I wish you would have slowed down in that area. I get it that things happened to you that made you bitter, scared, and angry. You didn’t have to be so easy though. No one will respect you if you don’t respect yourself. You aren’t a sex icon. You’re horny because you do drugs, and you became a hooker because you were poor and sick of living on the street. Just because you made a lot of money, it doesn’t restore your dignity.
Do you remember me?
I’m gentle and forgiving. Which is why even though I don’t understand what you’ve done, I still will forgive you. Someday. You’ve come this far, and you haven’t given up, so you should be proud of that. The world has become an ugly and evil place I guess, especially in the life you got wrapped up in.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I rushed you, and I’m sorry that I didn’t teach you to love yourself better. You may not have ended up in such a predicament. What do I know, though? I’m just a kid, and I’m only going off of the examples that have been set for me. It’s really crazy how we adopt the same behaviors that make us cringe when we are young. Anyway, I’m sorry that I didn’t give you the confidence in yourself to combat what was said about you with the girls, and I’m sorry that the me inside of you made you cower down when it came time to fight for them. It’s not over yet, and you have made a ton of strides in the right direction, but please, please remember. That everything you have worked so hard to build can be ripped away from you just as fast, if not faster. Don’t lose focus. And one last thing…. Don’t forget where you came from. Every now and again, if you could, just please try and think of me.

Style Score: 91%

Spoken word
I am heard
From paper to presence
Poetry has given me unlimited expression
I am free
Oh how I do love thee

To have no judgements
No expectations
Only speaking from my highest vibrations
I radiate my lungs
I embody every room in which I stand
Taking my audience on my journey with me
From ear to ear
Rather than hand to hand

To have aced every essay
To have read books in the summer
Who knew my calling was to be a poet or an author
No one shows you this is a feasible path
Discouraging you
Saying it’s impractical, unattainable
Only because they’ve never dreamed
of being outside an office or a cubicle
I won’t be naive, I won’t falter
Because for me this dream is anything but impossible

I love the way poetry makes me feel more myself
Every artist can tell you
It’s not for love of money
Not for approval or acceptance
With every note sung, brush stroke, or word spoke
We are emanating our deepest passions

We are the few unafraid to allow our hearts to shine through
To be vulnerable & bare
To conquer our fear of public speaking
Standing alone on this stage
Yet I don’t feel alone
Sharing my truth with others
Yet it’s safe
It feels like home

Cliché to say
But I’m thankful, grateful & blessed
I have found my passion
I withhold love for myself through my writing
& Perhaps call me old fashioned
But there’s nothing more sentimental
Than receiving a hand-written letter
Instead of this new age typing

It’s true paper will always beat rock
Because when my pen hits the paper
I fancy the way the ink glides
The world makes sense again
Writing letter by letter
Mastering my scribe
Curating every sentence
Every stanza
Every story with pride

My thoughts no longer jumbled
I can now see so clearly
I feel weightless
I feel untouchable
It has been my superpower for the world to hear me
Some people want to leave behind money or a legacy
For me—
I will have left my voice, my story

Oh poetry, I love & value thee
Thank you for being a safe place for me

Capturing the true essence of when

The love story began

I smile

Reminiscing on the rhymes

That made me laugh

Easy to create interesting patterns

Some so elementary

Yet so catchy

My words were my power

My emotions needed an outlet

My voice found a safe space

With each line

My love grew fonder

I felt more alive

Whenever I read my words

I was a bit surprised

A master in disguise

My pen was my secret weapon

The words I collectively gathered

Made me aware

That it wasn’t a mere coincidence

Once I started writing

I could never stop

Until I did for a brief period

When my mother passed away

I stumbled on a mental block

My passion had died

Until an angel came to rescue me

Reassuring me that I needed my own words

To revive me

My creativity had never left

I was lusting momentarily

But when my passion

Reminded me that the time was now

I knew that poetry was my true love

It definitely saved me!

You have always been here, haven’t you?
Soft, steady, waiting. Unnoticed but never absent.
You have known the weight of my body when I could not stand,
the nervous tug of sleeves over trembling fingers,
the hush of palms pressed against my chest,
as if you alone could keep my heart from breaking open.

You have held so much.
Tearstained pillows, quiet apologies, the ghosts of things I should have let go.
You have traced the spines of books that felt safer than people,
curled around the warmth of a teacup on nights that felt too long.
You have built and unbuilt—art, letters, love—
each stroke, each press, a silent rebellion against the fear of being forgotten.

And yet, I have not always been kind to you.
I have wrung you in worry, bitten you down to the bone,
clenched you into fists when all you wanted was to open.
I have blamed you for trembling,
when all you were trying to do was hold on.

But you—oh, you.
You never left me.
Even when I abandoned myself,
you turned doorknobs, signed my name, reached for the light.
Even in stillness, you moved. Even in silence, you spoke.

And here you are still,
writing these words,
building, reaching, proof that I have not stopped—
not really, not ever.

So I promise:
I will be gentler with you.
I will unclench, I will open, I will trust.
I will let you rest when you need to and create when you are ready.

You are not just my hands.
You are my history, my resilience,
the proof that I am still here.

And that is enough. That has always been enough.

My Dearest Communication,

From the moment I entered the world, before I could even form a word, you were there. The cries of a newborn, in the touch of a mother’s hand, in the unspoken language of your eyes, you made your presence known. you are not just a tool, not just a method, we are nothing without you. You are the silent force that moves the world, the unseen thread that weaves humanity together.

I have loved you in ways, I cannot describe, yet everytime I try, I realize that even the attempt itself is an act of loving you. You are the reason I exist with purpose, the force that allowsme to takethoughts from the depths of my mind and place them into the hearts of others. You are not just a speech, not just words on a page, you are an action, emotion, existence itself.

Everything I do, everything anyone does, begins and ends with you. A handshake, a glance, a carefully crafted letter, all of it is your expression. Without you, silence is not peace; it is a void. Without you, progress is not possible. What is leadership without words? What is love without expression? What is existence if not the constant exchange of signals, gestures, and messages that define our very nature?

You are not bound by sound, nor by sight, nor by language. You live in the subtlety of a raised eyebrow, in the rhythm of music, inthe blinking lights of technology speaking to one another. Every wave to a friend, every story passed down through generations, every revolution that has ever begun with the words, “enough is enough”, all of it is you.

You are the unseen architect of civilization. Without you, there are no laws, no literature, no connection between minds.

Every invention that has ever changes the world, started with you. A scientist speakes to his ideas before he builds. A writer listens to his soul before he creates. A lover whispers before they embrace. Everything begins with you.

And that is why I love you. Not because you merely exist but because you are existence , itself. You are the greatest power we have ever known.

So, I dedicate my life to you. Not just as a speaker, a writer, a thinker, but as someone who understands that without you, I am nothing.

With All My Heart,

William Joseph

“Always be ready!”
My dad would yell from the stands
Crouch
Step, step
Hover
Clap!
The ball hits the leather
“Striiiike” yells the umpire
It’s like I could taste each out
Before the play was made

Every few pitches I lick my first three fingers on my throwing hand
The dirt grazes my pores as if it was made for me
The perfect solution for a perfect grip, a perfect throw
I wasn’t afraid of germs in the field
It’s like calories around Christmas
They didn’t count

The batter shows bunt
“Up, up, up!” my coaches yell
I creep up
Putting the 14 bones in my face on the line
My mom winces
I run toward it
Slap!
Dead sprint like I’m being chased
I dive and slide head first
Stretched out for the catch
I pop up for the double play
The crowd goes wild

I dreamed of days like this
I still do
Lying sick in a hospital bed
It’s all I wanted
Whether it was the season I was knocking on death’s door
Or the one I blew out my knee I couldn’t play all season
Until the last game of the season
The last of my career

She threw the pitch off the plate
To protect me on that route I had sprinted so many times
“Ball” the umpire calls out
“Time” my coach says as he runs out
Makes a substitution
“Number 17 in for number 11 at third base”
The announcers’ voice booms
I slowly walk off the field
The crowd on their feet
Clapping me in
As if it was God waving me in
Saying, “I’ve got it from here”

How can you not be romantic about baseball?

T’was a crisp and wintry eve, as I sat by the fireplace to craft this divine love letter to thee.
Thou may be INVISIBLE; thy trio be one of a kind.
Free Will; without you in this lifetime, we would never know the SUFFERING and ANGUISH of making a poor decision, nor the JOYOUS BLISS of changing our minds and crossing paths when making BETTER DECISIONS. You are open and welcoming; patient and permissive; universally accepting.
Autonomy; you are fiercely independent and strong in conviction… sometimes flawed and wavering, though confident in depiction of all that you are. What makes you special is your ability to change your state of mind; never feeling stuck, always knowing that change is the only constant, fearlessly transforming at any given moment. You have the gift of shapeshifting into your highest self.
Authenticity; YOU are UNIQUE and GENUINE, there is nothing quite like you. You are the HIGHEST VIBRATION, the secret ingredient to life. I cherish your honesty, integrity, and loving energy. Your beauty is blinding; a translucent, vibrant, colorful soul. You raise me up and connect me to the tree of life.
Free Will, Autonomy, & Authenticity; you transform my bleeding heart and create an energy of passion for life. You level me up to share these gifts with other beautiful souls. YOU ARE MIRACULOUSLY SELFLESS.
With Tender Love,
Janelle M. Comstock

My dearest Music,
Your passion is so evident in your tone and beat. That swagger that brings me the heat. The confidence indicating that you run the show, and the way you encourage me to let go. The freedom and ease when I hear your voice. Your adaptability as you give me the choice. Your raspy slurs as your whisper my name, and your mischievousness as you make your claim. The hold you have when I yearn for more, and the way you caress me when I’m on the floor. You pull my chords and reassure release; You’re patient and fervent and refuse to cease.
See, we have history – you and I. It’s not always been easy, but you always choose me.
Remember I once lost myself in R&B; an important lesson came to be…. My bittersweet destiny. Occasionally, I think of thee.
That time I experienced old-school rap. So street, so hood – I just couldn’t adapt. It was a wrap as unhappiness was all I could see.
I’ve tampered with classical tunes, but the vibes were quickly ruined. Ruined the start before its start, and we quickly grew apart.
Soca had me playing with fire with its familiarity and feelings of home. I couldn’t hold on down to the wire. I was much better off alone.
I really favored smooth jazz. Lights down low, nice and slow. The natural mystic didn’t last. With illusions one never knows.
The thought of country grooves warms my soul. Ballads made from hearts of gold. Slow and methodical, but I needed more so I never quite opened that door.
My fave was when you brought steel pans and that fury I need from the band. Undeniable rhythm when I’m near, that calypso beat is what I crave to hear. It’s in my bones, in my soul, in my blood til I’m old.

Your eclecticism is a combination of all that’s good. The drums, bass, violins & tunes. Piano, melodies, steelpan and moves. Complementary contrasts make the best tunes. As you grow and expand and you venture into infinity, I hope that you’ll continue to choose me.

Forever yours,
Christina

To my journal, 

Thank you for taking me as I am. I write to you everyday, and there’s no theatrics with you. I feel guilty when I write “stronger” thoughts I have in my life, but only you know how strongly I felt them in the moment. It’s only through writing it down do those feelings leave my mind. You hold it all, with no complaints. It’s something I never thanked you for. 

I got you in a Muji store at Times Square. I’d always been a fan of stationary and writing letters, so purchasing you wasn’t a question. I pondered how I would use your pages. I had a plethora of notebooks I had yet to finish, so I had to think about it for a while. I started therapy earlier in the year. Being the type A person I am, my solution for you was to hold my progress and homework. Past journals held my feelings too, but I strayed away from writing negative thoughts. I even taped together the pages that had unsavory emotions. Therapist lady suggested I lean into this, and give myself the freedom to write anything I wanted. Writing my “bad” feelings would not make them more real, but it would allow me to accept and process the world around me. It’s even better that those feelings aren’t taken out on anyone. 

It’s been a while now, and more than half of your pages are filled. From my favorite things in my daily life, to pure spirals of anger. It’s simple to tell the distinction, from my uniform handwriting to the chicken scratch I was too angry to re-write. You’ve seen it all, and you are the only audience that has seen me as such. My goals and deepest fears are on the same page, among things no one else will know about me. But I don’t feel afraid of this vulnerability. You’ve given me a space to be myself, and to slowly let me come to conclusions I was afraid of saying. Like my former philosophy stood, acknowledging something painful would create something I didn’t want to confront. But I’ve learned something through my time with you.

The introspection of my life has always been sincere. The lowest existentialism I’ve felt did exist, and happened often. The joy of feeling seen by my loved ones was real. The pure moments of ecstasy I’ve had partying with friends was real. The bouts of rage and regret were extremely real. But acknowledging all of them didn’t cause them to exist. They were already there, I just didn’t allow myself to accept who I was as a whole. You allowed me to accept who I am, choosing which parts I wanted to grow. And appreciating the parts that always remained. I just didn’t know how to fully appreciate them. Thank you for guiding me through that lesson, I wouldn’t be the person I am now without having you by my side.

All my love,
Mercy

ProWriting Aid Style Score: 86%

I don’t think any thank you is enough for me to tell you how grateful I am that you exist. You’ve cradled me on the nights when I cried over a long-gone ex-boyfriend, fueled my anger and hatred when I went through a friend breakup, and made me feel as light as a feather on the days when I began to fall in love all over again, and never once have you left my side.
And every song I have in my library has its own special story.
I remember the day I really fell in love with you. It was summer 2007 and my family was blasting the radio. Z100, KTU, or something of the sort. What I do remember is Big Girls Don’t Cry by Fergie was at the top of the charts, and my little ears perked up in a way I never experienced before. I waited for that specific song over and over felt such a thrill whenever I heard it on the radio again, as if I struck gold. That was MY song. At least, one of the most important songs that would shape who I am today.
I remember my many phases and changes of life and somehow you always had something to offer me. Whether it was the thrilling smash of an electronic dance music beat in my middle school days, or a sensual bachata beat when I began to love and appreciate my Hispanic heritage a little more, you always had something. There was always something so special about you that I could never pinpoint, but there you were – just waiting to embrace my ears with a myriad of sounds that came together most beautifully.
The truth is, I don’t think I could ever go a day without you. I miss you when you’re gone. I’ve been through many different loves of my life, many different friends, schools, homes, and even feelings that I hate to confront. The one thing that has remained constant is your existence in my life. Even if my feelings and life circumstances are ever changing, you find a way to always be there and for that, I will always love you. No pun intended. I’m so happy there was a musical genius that figured out we could make you after putting a bunch of various sounds together and have it evoke the feelings you do. I don’t know if I could ever thank you enough.
I know one thing remains true, though: you are the one true love of my life. And I hope you know that I will always love you back.

All my love,
Gabby

My Dearest,

Paper to pen, the clock ticks. The deadline is coming, but I must write. I must confess my love,
my love for you.

You see, time is of the essence. I cannot miss this special chance.

Truly, I say to you, I am fond of you.
How deep is my love? They ask.
Is it deeper than the ocean?
Surely, I will look away as my cheeks redden,
Then lift my eyes to heaven with joy.

My love is deep, in that I pray for you.
I pray to see you,
I pray to hear your voice,
I pray for your coming,
I pray for your going.
I pray in gratitude for you.
Always, I pray for you—forever.
That’s how much I—oh yes, I say, I do—love you.

Your voice, no matter the distance, I know it.
I hurry to you swiftly.
Ah yes! How you caught my eyes.
What a lovely sight.

Some days I see you, other days I do not.
Yet, I do not miss you, because I love you.
I know those days will come again.

I love you in every state—
Your toilsome, windful days,
And your graciously calm dances from the heavens above.

I admire your assistance to others.
You provide a hand to that which needs,
You clean that which is dirty,
And you do this not for one, but for anyone.

You are a delight.
You are misunderstood, but I understand.
Though you are cloudy and gloomy,
I see the beauty in you—
I see the rainbows, that blossoms after you.

Oh, rain—yes, you who fall from the heavens—I love you.

Memories of you filter through my mind:
Movies and sandwiches,
Puzzle pieces and jazz hums in the background,
Dancing with you in the chilly, weathery day.

I jump,
I shout,
I giggle,
I laugh, a snorty laugh.

I run to the hill and say,
“My Love For You!”
Oh, how it never ends.

Rain, you reign.
I will never forget you, not one day.
I pray to see you soon,
Even though I saw you yesterday!

Forever yours,
A Lover of Rain

Style Score: 82

Dear Rekindled Passions,

Life has no meaning without you; I’ve spent my time with distractions that have left me unfulfilled.

Searching for the feeling with money, I acquired bills. With you, time has suspended.

One day it’s dancing, then maybe you’ll take me out for pottery. I’m on my toes; sometimes its spontaneous, other days we’re uninspired. Reminding me I can i’m In love with life, but dedication to one thing we can grow into.

What I love most is our creations, listening to ideas and making them become real.

There are no rules other than showing up to be committed.

What I’d like to share with the world is this is for everyone, love that is everlasting. No amount of goals, money, people, or things can take its place.

It’s free fuel that can go for days, passions mend the broken hearts, the emptiness that disguises as hunger, and ground mental anguish.

A priceless love and gift.<3

Permission Slip

Style score 68%