Dear me,

In some ways, she is still a tiny girl laying on the bed with a lot of words in her mind, dreaming awake in the dark, and an innocent wonder,

"What if…? What if I could live leeway? What if I can run the steepest mountain? What if I break all the strings that trap me?

What if I could breathe in peace? What if I get a chance to say it louder, those words I swallow?" 

I want to go back in time and embrace her with a lot of adoration and tell her answers are hidden in our palms for questions we are too afraid to ask. 

I’ll let her cry in the silence of twilight nights, not asking why but patting her on the shoulder.

She is not weak, just not aware of all the strength hidden inside her.

I want her good cries and end up with a giggle. I want her to read my poems.

I'm not a marvelous writer but I want her to know that she's all I ever write about, and I want to see her happy.