M: Hey, kid!

KM: Hey…

M: How are you? You seem a little sad.

KM: I’m okay, life’s just life, ya’ know?

M: *nods* I know, life doesn’t stop being life though!

KM: …

M: Sometimes you’ll have ups and downs. Right now, you’re going through a lot. Sometimes you’ll set it down, carry it again, and set it down again. That “a lot” doesn’t ever truly stop being a lot. But that’s okay. You get stronger. You learn things. You keep going. Sometimes you rest.

KM: Thank you for that.

M: Of course! Anytime!

KM: You’re not doing too bad for us, you know? I’m glad we pulled through. Thank you for raising me. Maybe we can chat again sometime?

M: Yeah, maybe we can. I plan to, anyway. Even if you don’t always answer right away. I’ll keep in touch.

KM: Hey, uh, before you go…?

M: Yeah?

KM: How much more do we lose?

M: I can’t tell you everything, as there would be nothing left for you to learn. We lose a lot.

KM: …

M: But we also gain more than we lose. Keep your heartbeat strong, kid, for both of us. Our future will thank us.

KM: Hey, I’m glad you visit me. You’ve made a lot of progress. I know you didn’t believe in yourself, but how could you not? You’ve been through a lot… like UH LOT UH LOT. But you still have faith and hope in humans, you still love, and you’re still working for me, for them. Give yourself more credit. If I have to keep our heart strong, you have to give yourself credit where credit is due.

M: I’ll work on that.

KM: …

KM: You say that.

But mean it…

M: …

KM: Mean it…

M: I’ll try my best to give myself more credit. No promises.

KM: Sounds about right. See you around, bigger me. I love you.

M: I love you, too, little me. Thank you for waiting.

Dear The Unsealed,

I had some drab nonsense of a poem thing written up for this, because you asked us in what way we are blossoming, or what is blossoming in our lives. Don’t get me wrong, I kind of liked some of the words I was using and the “true” meaning behind them. But, in order to answer your question with authenticity, I’d have to actually answer it in writing, which is the best way I speak, the loudest I think. In most other areas of my life, I’m quiet. So, I can’t answer your question with pretty poetic words, or beat around the bushes that I usually beat around. Not without losing parts of me, the parts of me that make that answer unique and closer to being understood, or at least conveyed in a well-meaning way.

What is blossoming? Well, in every way I am. It’s I who is blossoming. In May, all my life, everything I’ve done, I’ve prepped for this Month. This one Month, that… could change everything, hopefully for the better. Hopefully, in the way the smaller version of me wanted. This is for her now.

Of course, I don’t want to sound like I’m on a high horse, or like I’m pretentious and snobbish, and cruel. If I do sound like I’m on a high horse, there is a good chance I’ll knock myself down. I don’t want to be the smartest in the room, I want to learn from the smartest in the room. I don’t want the light shown on me. I’m okay in the dark. It may be cold, but I’ve been there a lot. I guess you could say we’ve become friends, the dark and I. However, having spent time there, a lot of time there, I know how necessary and vital the light is. I’d like to reserve the light for others who need the warmth, and maybe aren’t as comfortable with the dark. I’ve always said, “Don’t be like me”. Maybe not out loud to a crowd, but at least to myself. *Don’t be like me.*

I’m writing my first book. It is actually happening. Not the empty promise I made to my teachers in high school. Or myself when I was younger and found out Paolini was 15 and thought I’d be 15 knowing DAMNED well that wasn’t going to happen. I knew one day it would come. I knew I’d write a book and plan many others right after that. I don’t know how, but I knew, and it is a belief, a foundation, an unwavering truth, that is finally happening. 20 years in the making, and I see what so many before me have seen. The fun part? There is still more to see. There will never not be more to see, especially if you believe in infinity in any aspect.

The story I’m writing is truth-turned-fiction. It’s my story, and others were included. Getting back into reading after losing it, it’s true what they say – you don’t use it, you lose it. I realized so many small players play a part in our everyday lives. It’s never just one person, or two or three, sometimes, it’s ten. So many characters, they can last seconds in your story, shape our paths. Sometimes when you’re used to doing things alone, you forget that. But none of us ever did anything entirely alone, none of us. We may be on our own paths, we may be “alone,” but everything, even some original ideas, and yes, I do believe we can have some original ideas still, is part of the human condition, involves other people. Do you know how many people it took to get us here today, right now?

I’m blossoming. I’ve been learning from other people how to water myself. I’ve been learning the hard way, through observation and experimentation. Life has always been an experiment in experience for me. Life is also very hard. That’s why I still fight with my brain and my thoughts, but it’s different from before. I still want to leave, so badly do I want to just disappear, cease to exist, but also, I want to see things, see people just as much. See the turn of the century, which would only be 102 for me, and living that long could be possible. See people. We have the internet now, and travel is changing, and even though money is still very stupid, and useful, and stupid, conversations for another day, all things are easier and harder. I can see people thrive now. Even after hard times, and that’s nice, that is so damn nice. What’s keeping me here? People. No one special. No one in particular, just people.

I’m doing the things I never thought I’d do.

I’m seeing results in ways I didn’t think possible.

I’m probably thriving.

Because here is the thing, anything is better than 85% of my life so far, before these moments.

I may be barely surviving in other ways, but in some of the big ones… I’m alive.

I hope by watering myself, others learn to water themselves too.

This isn’t a perfect science.

I’m still going to have to learn, change, endure, and grow,

and sometimes I may even wilt.

But it will be worth it.

I feel the light, the warmth, over here in my cozy nook in this dark place.

From ashes, I built a way to see the light. So, yeah, I do come out of this place from time to time.

But it’s okay. Take the light, humans of Earth, take the light, keep going, and carve your path.

Just keep going.

Dear Grief, my oldest friend,
I’ve known you quite a while.
I met you when I was still just a child.
In a “hood,” I didn’t grow up in, in a life of playing pretend.

Dear Grief, I grieved my childhood.
Dear Grief, I grieved my purity.
Dear Grief, I grieve my dad, my family, my dog, and my kitty. 
Dear Grief, I ache and carry your love with me.

For it is you that has taught me love. 
To love truth for truth’s sake makes sense. But to learn to love you took ages. 
To love and to hold will always be better than to have not at all. Of course, I love you, Grief. 

You hurt me, but it’s a hurt that heals me. You hurt me, but it’s a love that never leaves me. You hurt me, but it’s okay because I love you. 

In your absence, I can smile.
In your presence, I remember. 
I remember my dad, who was the best father. 
I remember my mother, who wasn’t always bad. 
I remember my dog who got me through 13 years, who I was with until the end. 
I remember my kitty and how she was so pretty. 
I remember my mission, to help people heal and smile. 

Of course, I love you, Grief! 
I love you because even though I grieve and have grieved, I’m still here, able to share their stories and keep their memories.
And yeah, I grieve my childhood. 
The one I didn’t have.
The purity taken from me and the pains it may always bring me. 

But I still love you, Grief. I love you because of their memory. I love you because of what you’ve taught me. I love you, Grief. Thank you for riding with me. 

Dear Too Much,
I had to sit with you for a while.
Under my flesh you crawl, But I’m ready to brawl.
Too much trauma,
and
Too Much baggage
Or at least that is what I told myself.

Like a swirling vortex,
a tornado I cradle
I’ve held onto you like some sort of label.

Dear too much,
I had to sit with you a while,
just to figure you out.

Call by call, and talk by talk he fixes that.
Walk by walk I remember that,
If one that therapist can handle all “This” then someone else can too,
and maybe, just maybe, Too Much is actually just enough.

Dear Too Much,
You’re finally out of touch.