I love to dance. Ooh, honey. Let me stomp my feet and clap my hands like a flamenco dancer, using my fan as my tool to make my expression that much more grand. Let me sway my hips like a salsa dancer, embracing every curve that I own. Let me pump my chest like a hip hop dancer, expressing how strong and how hard I can go. I love to dance. I love feeling feminine and knowing that I have some hips and curves that I know how to move. And then let me have this dance of expression, telling a story, sharing a story with my body that you can only interpret if you look closely and feel deeply. I love dance. I love that dance is universal, that everybody does it, that everybody can do it, that anybody can do it. I love dance. I love that every piece of my body can tell a story and speak to my experience, and I love the freedom that dance gives me when I am freestyling in my home, dancing alone or worshiping God, hallelujah, I love to dance. I love to think I wish in my head that I could do singing in the rain and jump and have all those high kicks, but that’s okay. I’ll just do it in my head, and I’ll stick to swaying my hips. I love to dance. I love the costumes that people wear when they dance, like leotards and tights, as well as just elaborate colors, like in the Mexican hat dance, showing off their dresses and flowing with the dresses. I love a geisha who’s showing off her fan and her movement, telling a story. I love dance. It’s so beautiful. An experience. A time. A story. An art. I love dance.

My most greatest love on God’s earth is spending time with my daughter and grandkids. I’ve gone through many trials and tribulations that could complete my life span dealing with illnesses. Through it all, I’ve had the greatest moments that could never be replaced. Moments that made me completely forget about thoses ill times, as if they weren’t even there. Time with my family helps me mentally, as well as emotionally, giving me the greatest joy ever. A total display of filial affection. A feeling like no other. Never wasted. During these times, there’s no pain, no worries, because I’m protected. I’m free to have fun, feel loved and appreciated. There’s time when I’m alone dealing with the mishaps and tragedies of my life. I’m a strong individual, but I’m even stronger with the loves of my life. Thoughts of any other trails in your life, any lingering destruction waiting to happen, means nothing during precious moments. There’s no fear, only Joy. The moments are everything. We’re creating lasting memories. Everything we do is done as a whole. We’re developing adaptability, strengthening relationships beyond measures. Creating futures for lasting relationships. The true meaning of love, where no one is left behind. Love and care is continuing to be bestowed upon me. Life’s greatest blessing. Life is the most beautiful, filled with family. No bond is greater!

I love the way the Sun caresses me.

His rays extending out to touch me ever so gently,

Sometimes,

Aggressively.

Sweltering heat.

Body dripping with sweat.

I love how warm he is,

And how he makes love to my skin.

Highlighting my,

glistening melanin

In

His presence.

He compliments me.

Tells me that I’m iridescent too,

That I’m

Bright like him,

I shine like him.

He kisses my ears,

My face,

My feet,

My chest.

He kisses me all over,

Just like a man should.

He kisses me like no man could.

He tells me to take my clothes off.

He asks to see my bare skin,

Expose myself to him.

So he can turn me,

Fifty shades darker.

I love him,

His yellow hues,

His bright beam,

He makes me gleam.

He brings me joy.

He encourages me.

Tells me to keep my head up

And to look on the brighter side of things.

I call him my Mr. Bright side.

With him there’s no wasting time inside.

I’d rather be outside with him.

I’d rather see the world lit up

Than see days dim.

I prefer his Sun rays.

His way

Of

Communicating is

Clear,

Firm,

Straight to the point,

Exact.

He makes me feel HOT.

He warms my heart.

Damn I love the Sun.

I love the summer fun,

Being outside,

Sometimes shading my eyes,

Cuz of how dazzling he be.

I LOVE his Sun rays.

I love him when it rains.

They are my favorite duo.

Sun and rain,

Washing away my worries,

Shedding light on my power,

Powerful is he.

Dangerous he could be,

But

I treat him how he treats me.

I smile,

Appreciate his presence.

I lay under him without a care.

I hold him in my heart how he holds me with his heat.

I love it when we meet.

Every day is different,

Entails something new.

He helps me get a clear view.

He makes love to my skin,

Cuz he loves my skin.

Me and him kin.

Alike.

I absorb him and I’m meant to.

All types of trouble to get into when he’s around.

It’s hard to frown,

Cuz the Sun knows just how to turn one upside down.

He’s clever,

Using his beautiful full light to enchant me.

I can see the glimmers dancing,

On my,

Shea buttered skin,

Just for him.

He lights up my eyes,

Exposes the brown hue that is my hair.

With him I’m always bare.

Naked.

Cuz he sees me.

He means me

No harm.

With his charming self.

I love to have him wrapped up all over my arms.

Damn I LOVE the Sun.

It’s so much fun when we become one.

He tells me secrets,

As he,

Slips into every part of my ear.

He is peaceful.

He makes me feel at ease.

With him I don’t have to think.

Just be.

Ugh!

My favorite thing to do with him is sleep.

Chile,

He puts me to sleep.

All I need is a mat and a pillow and underneath him I won’t hear a peep.

I’m safe with him.

Wherever he is there is my protection.

An armored weapon

When he needs to be.

Don’t get too close cuz he will burn you.

Psht, he don’t play about me.

Sometimes,

He plays hide and seek,

With the clouds.

I’ll see him and the next minute he’s nowhere to be found.

But ion trip, cuz I know he’s always around.

And even if it’s cloudy I know he’ll come back around.

So he can come caress my beautiful

Brown skin,

Brown eyes,

Brown hair,

Some more.

He’s everything and more than I could have ever imagined.

He shines on me and shows me my potential.

He shows me how to be gentle,

Patient,

With myself.

I love the Sun.

So long ago our love story begun.

And I promise can’t no one,

Take our love away.

He’s here to stay.

So girl, let me let you go.

I’m finna go lay,

With my friend,

My man,

The Sun.

To the novel I’ve not yet written,

I love you.

You are the bane of my existence and the thing I cherish above all others. You have plagued me, day and night, for decades. I’m kind of sick of it, but I just can’t let you go.

You spin such wonderful stories for me, my eyes following their twisting plots and heartfelt moments, like tracking dust motes in a sunbeam. They grow and contract, take on color and then fade, reach out across continents and oceans and then re-center on a small village and its people.
You flit from genre to genre, theme to theme, and I, your hopeless and helpless author, can only scramble after you clumsily, desperate to get a better glimpse, a more solid touch. A god chasing a nymph (though maybe in a less creepy way).

You have matured with me, risen through the ranks of middle grade to YA to New Adult to Adult. You have dragged me through research binges and uncomfortable questions and exciting discoveries, all in service to what you will become.

You have sat with me as I despaired over your existence. Wondered whether or not I would even bring you into this world. Would people like you? Would I like you? Sometimes I’m not convinced. Sometimes I am sure that my brain will never get it together, will never settle enough for me to create you.

And you want so badly to simply be! To be shared and laughed over and cried over and loved, because as much as I love you my love will never be enough. It can never be enough. My love will breathe life into you, but it will not sustain you.

So, like many things that are loved, I will eventually have to let you go. To hold on to you, tucked safely away in my mind from the claws of criticism and rejection, the banality of querying and paperwork, is a disservice to you. You don’t care about those things. And I love you too much to shackle them to you.

But not quite yet. I trust you, implicitly, but I would be lying if I said I wasn’t terrified. Loving you enough to release you is, by far, the hardest thing I have ever had to endure. Let me be selfish for a little longer, please?

All my Love,

Your author.

P.S. Please tell your sequel that they have to wait their turn. I cannot let them leave the nest if they are not even out of the egg yet.

Dear my something,

Growing up I had no idea you would mean as much to me as you do now. You were always there for me, but for some reason I always seemed to wave you off. I remember learning about you from grade school when I was saying words out loud that I couldn’t even spell yet. Storytelling has been a huge part of me, maybe because as a child my parents would read my brothers and I stories before we fell asleep. Those stories opened up my mind to explore things, it gave me new ideas, it enhanced my thinking, with that I began thinking out of the box. It wasn’t until middle school that I was given an assignment. The assignment was to pick any anime and tell the story through those anime eyes about a particular part of history. During that assignment, I allowed my imagination the freedom it was begging for. As I went on to do the assignment, something came over me. I was enjoying it, I enjoyed it more than basketball at the time. For years you have been by my side, for years you have been my go to. My mother brought me diaries as a young girl, even back then, years ago, you were there. When I assumed you were only here because it was something that was taught to me as a kid, but you made it so I would need you even when I did not know I would need you. I thought my love for basketball would get me to where I wanted to be, you stood there waiting patiently for me to pick you up. When basketball broke my heart and I had no one to talk to about it, you were there, you allowed me to pour out my most inner and deeper thoughts to you with no judgements. You have helped me through my darkest days and cheered me on through my happinest. You never complained about me venting to you about the same issue over and over again, the issue I, myself was constantly putting myself in. Day and night you laid on my nightstand waiting for me to get home, just so I could tell you about my day and the eventures I encountered. There you were, never jealous, always ready to be a listening ear, along with a caring friend when I was friendless. When I abandoned you when I finally made friends, you stood tall and watched over me. That time I lost those same friends, you were there welcoming me back with open arms. It was at that moment that I realized that I loved you. Some may say you are a rebound because I kept coming back to you whenever life failed me, but me, I see more than that. I see something that made a decision to never give up on me. I see something that watched me grow up from a little girl to a beautiful young lady. I see something that is patient and not judgemental. What I’m trying to say is, ink pen and paper I love you.

The serendipity of the fiber arts
I feel serenity when I pick up a hook
Crocheting to feel bliss
To feel like there is control in my messy world

A world in which I suffer on the daily,
Becomes joyous with a new project
Bags, blankets, scarves
The rectangular shapes appeal to me
As a way of comfort,
Often missed in my life

To abandon my hooks would be to disparage myself
Malign the progress and change in my life
The one constant that involves this daily
As to not become melancholicly repetitive

I believe there is love in my yarn
Unraveling, winding and working
All worked by hand, handmade with care in every thread

History woven and set in yarn
Here speaks past voices of the gifted
The activism, the fashion, and the unprecedented
Elating to those in this community
The lovers of the yarn,
Trying to make the world a more tight knit place

To make a mark with ones brushstrokes
Is to hook and twist around
Twisting over or under
Front side or back side
I see the history being made,
One stich at a time

Stiching by hook
I weave in the ends of me
To be as one with my livelihood,
My soul, belongs to crochet

Can I love the way that you linger on my tongue

Sweeter than any maple drizzle

More resonating than the most passionate kiss

But don’t tell, and don’t be mad

Passion is another feeling, yes, but I mention it as an act, a behavior

Not like you

In your own right, you are a “feeling” with a voice

And unique to any other feeling, you are logical, which makes your voice all the more loud

You, a feeling, a process that gives me peace

And cleanses me from the abhorrent

I like you, Reason

You always compliment me so well

And when you leave my tongue, you are hard for certain audiences to ignore, or reject

You are derived from the most knowledgeable parts of my mind

Making you one of the strongest parts of me

You keep me sane, you keep me gratified

That is why I love you

To the House with Purple Shutters,

I’m parked on the street beside you as I write this. My God, it’s been years since I saw you last. You have changed so much, while yet somehow you look exactly the same. You still have that tree my brother and I loved to climb in your backyard. I can see the smoke rising from your chimney, signaling there’s a fire burning in your old wood-powered fireplace. They sure don’t make them like that anymore. And they sure could never make another you. 

I continue to drink in your features and commit you to memory as I notice your shutters, once painted a vibrant shade of purple, are now painted black. The irony isn’t lost on me. It feels like a symbol that you have moved on and now all I get to do is mourn the you I once knew.

There’s a strange, small woman holding a watering can walking unhurriedly around your yard. She stops every so often to water some newly planted flowers. You used to have the most beautiful gardens. I swore yours bloomed more beautifully than anywhere else in the world. My grandmother tended so meticulously to them. I am glad to know your new partner is also quite the anthophile. She looks so content. And so do you.

As I watch her with some semblance of joy in my chest, I can’t help but feel my mind wander. Does she know about us? I wonder if she knows about the time we spent in your kitchen baking peanut butter cookies from scratch or of the double-decker peanut butter and jelly sandwiches my grandmother would make us for breakfast before we would watch one of the shows she and my grandfather had recorded in the living room. It was usually Walker, Texas Ranger. You remeber the one with Chuck Norris in his prime? We thought it was the coolest.

I wonder if, when it’s quiet, she can hear the echoes of my grandmother’s sweet voice as she sang all her favorite songs while washing the dishes. Or if she knows any of the words from Maya Angelou’s poem “Phenomenal Woman” like my grandmother had committed to memory. I like to imagine that at night, if she listens closely, she will be able to hear the stories grandmother would tell us about the adventures she and my grandfather got to take when they finally retired and got to travel the world. Man, there sure were a lot of them.

I wonder if she knows that a few years ago we had to scatter my grandmother’s ashes right there in your backyard. And then grandfather’s too, a few years after that. It was one of the hardest days you and I ever spent together. My grandmother always said she didn’t want to be parted from you. Her magic was meant to stay and grow right there in your gardens. The ones the new woman is now tending to with a sense of peace about her. 

I think back to our last day together.  I remember the stark duality of feeling immense heartbreak and devastation mixed with endless endearment and adoration for all of the joy you have given me over the years. I didn’t have the words then to tell you what you meant to me or the stomach to say goodbye. But looking at you now, I do. I will never be able to thank you enough for all of the joy you have brought into my life or all the ways you shaped me into the person I am today. The impact you have had on me is immeasurable. Even if my feet may never return to your front door, you will always remain one of my most treasured places.

 The place I could escape to as a child and get whisked away by the overwhelming sense of adventure and magic. The place I can turn to as an adult that makes me feel closer to my grandmother on the days where I feel her absence so deep in my bones it makes me tremble. The place that gave my brother and I so many invaluable memories together that we seem to treasure so much more now that we are older and don’t get to see each other as often. Our time together may be over, but the love we share is so deeply rooted it could never be severed by the hands of time, distance, or any inevitable change.  I’ll remember your gardens every spring and the smell of fire in your wood-burning fireplace every winter. In all of life’s seasons, I will remember you as the house with purple shutters.

All my love,

Your Flower In Bloom

To my long-lost pillow, I love you so dearly,
it crushed me to learn I lost you so clearly.
You stayed by my side for more years than I remember,
I treated you like my own family member.
A gift from my sister one cold Christmas Day,
I discovered memory foam is the only way.
I’m impressed you still held the perfect shape,
always cradling my head right at my nape.
You followed me wherever I went,
from Hawaii to Alaska, in my suitcase you were sent.
I couldn’t bear to sleep without you,
for I always felt comforted, even in some place new.
Unexpectedly, on a road trip you were lost,
I had to repack the car but was it worth the cost?
You meant the world to me,
now my bed is empty and you were set free.
Does anyone love their pillow so much?
I suppose it’s good to free myself from a crutch.
My new pillow will never replace you,
for you are the truest of true.
While I’m grateful for all the years we had together,
now, in my memory, you’ll be my treasure.
I love you, my cherished pillow,
I’ll think of you when I see the dreamy willow.
Style Score: 100%

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,