And immediately she began to cry

Though my heart dropped at the tears I did everything I planned

I showed her the light that she hadn’t seen in years, and I appreciated her beautiful more

I nourished her with water that she hadn’t seen and I saw she began to grow

Then I pruned the dead leaves and freed her from the weight of her past- that same past holding her from coming into full bloom

I occasionally saw butterflies adorn her and I smiled because she deserves to be admired in my absence.

And one day I apologized for my intrusion. Where I stood I could see her beauty and I had no right to bring her with me, regardless of if the love I knew I’d show.

And once I surrendered and offered the vulnerability she answered me with confusion. She didn’t shed her tears from the sadness of being taken. She relinquished tears of joy because I wanted to.

Have you ever been loved?

Not for the things the casual reader can see on your cover, but for what lie in the depths of your pages? Loved so much that each word in every sentence fail to adequately define you but are simply part of the whole story? Loved in a way that when you stare back at your reader staring at you, you can see that they can’t put your story down? Loved so much you’re studied like a test- and while there won’t be a grade given you mentally stamp an A+ with a smiley face on every time they inevitably ace the challenge in front of them.

I hope that you get loved.

Not because of the romantic ties and a promise to persevere through the good and bad. Not because of legal implications,  paternal obligations, or lustful over sexualization. And that if you have one too many that your hair gets held back. That if you take a pull from a cigarette you don’t fear being pushed away. That if your voice carries and it’s too loud, that it sounds like the melodies of someone’s favorite song. And that when your tears flow they see the beauty in your mascara flowing; and they applaud you for granting access to the chapters of the book that so few get to see.

And even more than I want you to be gifted with something as precious and subjective as love.

I want you to be Accepted without Conditions.

At your breathtaking highs

In the crushing lowsn

When your anxiety is keeping you in bed

Or when you want to get up and dance bachata

When you want to impulsively catch a flight

Or when you want to dance on the bar

I hope you’re loved.

But I wanted you accepted without condition.

My wife is subject to wide placements over her stomach as I feel the first few days of the new baby kicking.

Life is so much better than I deserve in this moment. The current challenge is being present and not counting down until the good days are over.

The next post will be a letter to younger me..