I’ve thought about you for many days in a row now. I kept telling myself that I would sit down and write you out a quick note, just a small “Hey, hi, hello” to remind you that you are always in my thoughts, but I never quite got around to it. The timing just never seemed right. This is what I told myself anyways.
The more I thought about it, the more I told myself that the thought of sending you mail, a note from a stranger to another stranger, was absolutely absurd. I wondered if it would seem peculiar to you that I would think of you fondly enough to pick out a cute, humourous, touching card and scribble out a few lines. Would you find it awkward that I included some childish stickers inside? We hardly know each other, but your words have come to find such a special place in my life. But would this be enough to justify some Love Mail? I worried that it wouldn’t, so I refrained.
Sometimes things happen during my day and I want to share them with you, but not on a page of my blog where hundreds of other eyes skim over my words. I want to know about your day as well, what you’ve been up to, what made you smile, laugh, cry, worry, ache. I want to snuggle up in my bed, warm and safe underneath the covers and read your words. I want to have a special place and time where all I do is read your words. It would be my safe place.
That’s what your words do. They make me feel safe. They allow me to experience joy, sorrow, worry, anxiety, triumph, admiration, happiness- I experience so much through your words, in the privacy of my safe place, privately. I would much rather be there with you, as a friend, and hold your hand throughout your journey, but I know this isn’t possible. So I walk next to you, through your words. A million miles away, but near you nonetheless.
Sometimes I want to send you some things that I like, to remind you of me, remind you that I am thinking of you. Maybe a tin of my favorite tea, something that you collect that popped out to me the last time I ran to the store to pick up milk and eggs, a quilt you could wrap yourself in on the couch when the days just become to be too much. But my anxiety always stops me. How am I supposed to know what would be out of your comfort zone, and if I asked you, how could I trust that you weren’t just agreeing to appease me? And so I just don’t send anything at all.
But there always comes a time later on, when I realize that I should’ve trusted my big heart. I should’ve sent that card, that note, that care package. I should’ve reached out and reminded you that you are loved, even when in reality we hardly know each other. For now, I will turn to these pages to remind you.
You are loved. 💖