Dear Me

Dear Me,

Through all trials, tribulations, late night Gospel meditations,

Through all dreamscapes, long days, and learning things so vile,

Through every mind haze, blind rage, and bleeding scrape,

Through every word forced, rote course, and headache;

I’ve come to a conclusion. I still like you.

Because of all the tasks you struggled through,

Because of your adoration for the Mourning Dove’s coo,

Because your plush cheeks redden with ease,

Because your heart aches as it pleas;

I know that you need me to, and I do. I still like you.

I’ve known you.

I’ve lost you.

I’ve found you.

I’ve killed you.

I learned you were still the same when we fell back together again.

You adapted and grew, but life comes from your roots as you pray for the rainforest’s rain.

Because under all the years, you are still two, stealing chocolates.

Because you are still ten, thirteen, and twenty-two.

Because through all ages

All places

All stages

In more than one way,

On the best and worst days,

You’ve stayed the same.

And despite the days I think we ought to part ways,

Dear Me, to try another skin,

I know my love for you will creep in again.

In the color of the sky,

In the taste of apple pie,

In the beauty of sunrise,

And how I stop to stare in your eyes,

I know I will always come back to you.

Because I still like you.

Not every hour of every day

Or even in every way.

But enough to want to kiss your face

And confess to you a truth:

I still like you.

I know you need me to, and you make it easy to do.

So, dear Me, I hope this letter finds us well,

And I hope we still see each other when we linger

In the mirror for many years to come.

With every Breath of our body,

Yourself.