Dear M:
I could say so, so many things to you. In fact, I could tell you anything. But frankly, writing lots of things for the sake of writing lots of things feels a bit like writing a yearbook entry. It's completely unnecessary. Everything you need to know about me, you already know. If you don't know, you'll ask. If I forget to tell you, it's okay. We are past the point of secrets or games, and besides, soon enough, we'll remember. We always, always remember soon enough.
You know that I think you are strong, beautiful, brilliant, insightful. You know that I admire your spunk, your gift of impeccable timing and wit, and your damn fine vocabulary. You know that I treasure the memories we've made together. You know that you are my family; that we're bound together by decades of shared history. You know that I simply would not be Me if there wasn't a You.
And so, rather than tell you the things you already know, I'll leave you with a secret.
When I think about you, I wonder: Do you know what you are worth?
I hope so. I hope that every day, when you look in the mirror, you see that radiant, sparkling soul of yours beaming right back at you.
When I look at my life, I see that spirit everywhere. Thanks for that.
I love you.
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