Love Letters to Myself

"Am I allowed to love myself? screamed within my ears

After countless cuts from life have bled throughout the years

Where tongues have pierced everything, that once, I held so dear

A whisper arose, through the tears, I began to hear

Begin to love yourself, the way no other would care

Posed from this broken heart, the self quest becoming near?”

Hap jotted quickly, in one of her countless little black notebooks, as we were riding the train.

Yes, Hap; meaning one's luck or lot, an occurrence, happening, or accident, and as a verb Hap means to happen. It was unique indeed, yet quite suited for a most unusual young lady.

Trying to explain Hap is a bit like trying to explain the supernatural. Even to describe her appearance could be tough as it changed as often as the weather. Today she seemed to be in one of her brooding lows, as she wrote. Always assuring it was just the muse that came to visit, and not her.

Her dark brown eyes looked almost black, the corners of which furled downward matching the edges of pursed lips. Skin especially paled today against dark brown, deep purple, all in one tinged hair. The color suited her as well as the style, having been cut in a Cleopatra fashion.

Hap explained early on in our friendship, she did this thing which she referred to as ghostwriting. Only learning later in life, it was called automatic writing; and ghostwriters were a category of people that could make a living by writing for other people, without the accolade. Still preferring to call it ghostwriting, due to how it all started.

Living in a haunted apartment, within an old mill that had been refurbished. Staying there was an experience that one could not forget. When a ghost came through you could feel the cold on your body as your energetic fields touched. Truly chilling indeed!

She would begin by putting her pen to paper, then write in automaton-type flow. Later when reading it herself she would be amazed at the writing, in which a deep sadness seemed entrenched. Knowing it was not the same as when one had to ponder a subject matter or content and then search for the correct words and assemble them. No, this was most certainly different. Yet she did not like the feeling of the overwhelming despair entertained.

It took over a decade before she would dare to pick her pen back up. Long after moving from that place. Yet there seems no escape from the ghostwriting, as it started right up again. Occurring most often in the context of poetry; consequently saddened or amused at the words later coming true.

Hap looked up with a new brightness gleaming from her eyes to announce; "today is the day I shall start writing love letters to myself, and I hope you join me on this adventure." Pulling an unused little black notebook from her bag that she gifted me with.

I knew how much it meant to her so I said, "yes, even though I don’t know how or where to begin. Are you sure you want to part with one of your favorite notebooks? "

She said, "you know that is one of the lucky three” with a curiously mischievous smile.

“Where is the third one?”

Pulling it out with an even bigger grin," this one is for the love that we shall share."

“Share how?”

“You will see when we get there. After all, everyone needs some love and I did promise you today was going to be an adventure.”

Hap tilted her head back down, as her pen began to glide on the parchment (in the journal we were to share somehow) writing:

"11: I am loved; I am love when loving others

11: In the sacrifices made along the way

11: My heart grows larger, and guides me on my day

Know you are loved and never alone

Some gifts come in mysterious ways

May divine angels find you today"

With a doodled heart underneath, oft a habit of hers.

Gratefully pondering our friendship, while peering out the window enjoying the view, realizing its foundation was in being non-judgmental. We could chat for hours about anything and everything. Also sharing the love of adventure, experiencing new places, meeting diverse people, and trying fresh things.

While Hap continued writing; into what amounted to about a dozen pages by the time our train pulled into the station. Landing place achieved New York City.

Right before we got off she informed me of the plan; as she pulled out a map containing circled destinations. We would start by visiting an elderly care facility to spread some love, head off sightseeing; and then have lunch, obtained from an authentic NY City street vendor, to enjoy in the park. During which she would help me start my first journal of love letters to myself before we boarded the train back home.

It was a perfect weather day for walking; with the sun glistening off a myriad of glass windows making for a panorama of the city coming gloriously to life.

Taking in the bustling crowd movement took a bit to get used to, and there was so much to absorb. While competing, flashing neon, advertisements distracted; each one seeming to beg attention.

Reaching the elderly care home they let us right in, as Hap had already called the facility in advance to arrange our time there. Leaving the original behind, 11 pages now in her hand, torn gently from the perforated edges of the little black notebook. All exact replicas matching the poem she had written.

While most of the residents were in their community center we began our journey through the halls; attempting to anonymously leave the love letters in rooms for the occupants to later find. The first ten were delivered without a hitch. When we reached the 11th room, the door only partially ajar actually read number 11. Now uncertain if someone was in the room we gently knocked. The occupant said in a soft feminine voice “Please come in."

Both a bit fraught now as we had not intended to be seen; however we could not just walk away either. It would appear quite rude to leave the woman without saying hello now. Saying, “hello” in tandem we slowly pushed the door to enter the room, introducing ourselves. I noticed the clock which read 11:00 am., after which Hap started rambling about how we wished to spread some love in the world and that was the reason for our visit today.

The woman, standing by the window smiled and said, "well it is a pleasure to meet you, young ladies, my name is Parisa.”

I chimed in by telling her that is a most unusual yet beautiful name.

The woman seemed to glow as she said "very unusual yes, in these days. It is of a Parisian origin," Turning to Hap winking, "yours is most unusual as well. "

Directly after which Hap got the courage to walk forward and hand her the love note, saying "this is for you" as she backed up again.

Parisa, taking a moment to read, eyes alight with fire; said "why don’t you two sit a minute as I have something I would like to give you both also." We sat in the two chairs that were adjacent to her bed explaining how we did not want anything in return as much as we appreciated the thought.

She reached into her side table drawer pulling out a small wooden box with an ornate carving of an angel on the lid. Saying, "I insist, as I have been waiting for this day, but you two must make me a promise to share this box."

My mind drifting to it could be the sisterhood of the traveling box instead of pants when I heard a giggle escape from Parisa's lips. She continued to speak while handing it to us. Telling us she hoped we had a beautiful and adventurous rest of the day, that this encounter was most lovely but it was time for her to go now.

We stood up knowing this was our cue to leave, graciously thanking her for the gifts of her company, as well as the gorgeous box that we would indeed share.

The rest of the afternoon fabulously buzzed by, taking in the city. Yet at the same time, we were relieved to reach our much-needed lunch break, after all of the walking explorations. While eating we decided to relax and leave the writing for the train ride home. Pulling out the box to take a closer look, over discussions, I was admiring the carved detail when noticing a panel that slid out. Upon opening, there were two ten thousand dollar cashier checks, left blank where names belonged. I hollered in a panic, "we have to go back to the elderly facility now! I can't believe this! "

Hap and I took off as fast as we could walking so fast it was almost a runner's pace.

Rushing in to find Parisa, we reached room 11 only to find it empty. Panicked and baffled we ran to the front to question the people who ran the facility, yet they acted like we had lost our minds. They said there was no occupant in room 11 and there was no occupant at all named Parisa that ever lived there. Also assuring us no one had died there today. We could tell by their faces that we had pushed the envelope to an extreme. Deciding we tried our hardest and had better leave before they had us taken out in straight jackets. Besides we had to make it back to board the train, which we barely did.

Finally, boarding, exhausted and out of breath, it took us a few minutes to settle down. Before we could retrace the events of the day on the way home. After much discussion we concluded that Parisa indeed was an Angel, it was the only logical explanation. Also, what were the odds of the twenty thousand dollars being split into two ten thousand dollar bank checks, in the box that she made us promise to share?

A thought suddenly popped up that made me burst out laughing, so hard I could not talk at first as the tears were rolling from my eyes.

Hap said "why the heck are you laughing hysterically? "

I promise to write my first love letter to myself, but only after you re-read out loud the love letter “to yourself” that you wrote in the third “lucky” notebook. The designated one for the “love that we shall share”…

She opened to the original poem, that was left in the notebook to keep as a memento, and started reading aloud:

"11: I am loved; I am love when loving others

11: In the sacrifices made along the way

11: My heart grows larger, and guides me on my day

Know you are loved and never alone

Some gifts come in mysterious ways

May divine angels find you today"

Hysterical laughter poured out, once it clicked in her brain. Contagiously chiming back in; now sounding like two hyenas, with all the snorting and cackling Finally calming down with such relief, feeling completely guilt-free about the twenty thousand dollars. We wrote each other's names on the bank checks, handing them to each other filled out.

Chatting all the way home, including a decision to spend some of the money taking classes together, writing, art, and pottery. When telling Hap about the thoughts in my head, when the angel giggled, she laughed too and said, “now it makes sense.” So we did indeed decide to share the box itself as well. It would be traded back and forth upon visits to each other's houses for time immemorial.