As I write this letter, I am trying to forget that you will read it, although I’d love to connect with you. You see, when I’m writing and remember you, I want to hide the notebook under folders in my drawer, close the door, and meet you outside, arms crossed over my chest, a conscious smile on my face. But if you mean much to me, which you do, I would be myself around you. That means, sharing my thoughts candidly, but with courtesy. If only I could set aside my shame (there, I said it), communicating with you would be so much easier.
The truth is, if I always write for me alone, it becomes very quiet; only for you, and I abandon what I believe in, what I stand for, and the sacred in the secret things.
So I wish to find balance together. Your kind words mean so much to me. I believe it’s possible to do this for God and for you and for myself simultaneously, to find some relief in letting go of criticisms, and honor the creative process as it is.
Now that I think about it, I don’t want to forget that you are here. But I would like to see you differently, perhaps more truthful to who you are. What I want to forget is criticism, and myself as the rabbit frozen in place (maybe there’s more bravery here than I admit.)
Thank you for finding something valuable in the words I’ve written to you in the past.
Thank you for listening and for your respect always.
In response to a prompt posted by Melee. If you’d like to write your own letter, feel free to write to whoever or whatever you’d like. The only rules are that it begins with “Dear you” and that you use pronouns.