I love you. Yes you, who turned yourself inside out searching for answers, only to find them reflecting back at you on the bathroom floor as you lay in skin and soap and sweat and tears, but you didn’t know their ancient language; that long you’d held them inside.
The one who keeps yourself awake at night trying to cling onto a moment of peace before the night takes you into terrors so dark that no words could ever explain them away.
I love you. You. Who is wishing on a knife edge for someone to call you home, but baby, you’re already here. Come down from that place where you bleed out your scars just to stay standing on the hell where you were buried. Come down, I’ve got you now. I’ve got you.
You, the one who writes love letters on post-its, hoping one day they’ll stick for long enough to call back those who left you too soon. It was too soon, it really was too soon. And love, they’re not coming back, they never were, and I know, I know, I know it hurts.
It hurts so much that you cry into the morning, flooding the sky with your tears so only the birds can hear you as they call out your name to sing you to sleep.
I know I can’t love the pain away; believe me, I’ve tried, and I’d keep trying if I thought it could take away the ache that tightly grips your heart, or undo all that was done to you that should have never, ever, have been done.
But I can love you anyway. And love you I do.
There aren’t many things I know for certain in this life, but here’s one you can keep:
You are grace and grit, matter and mayhem and all of the complex humanity you hold in your heart and mind and body and being is perfectly enough, and there will never be a day when you are not loved.
I love you, dear one, I truly do. Now you can rest. Come down from there, come down.