23

(this was a letter. but I feel it may brighten a few extra darknesses, I really do hope. but it is for 23, because they are amazing.)

so, you basically gave me a license to romanticize, over the top, all. you may grow to regret that though I choose to believe/hope you will not. and I just watched a grey's anatomy episode, and I am listening to 23, and I just had the strongest fucking urge to write, to let you know, whatever this is, however small, however soon, yeah. I just had to write. like, colours coursing through me, that means I don't have to keep my knees pressed together, because it's okay, and I don't have to pull my sleeves up over my hands, because I am safe, and these actions may be tiny and weird and other people do them and don't understand why that even matters, but yes, to me, they're important. they're my tells. anger is another of my tells. that lets you know I am bursting with feelings for something, big stupid happy feelings. saying absolutely everything, the way I feel, no games: that's another tell. which, puts you on a winning streak.

I just, I wanted to share, because when I am like this, I can write fucking planets into existence, beaches form where I leave my footprints, everything pretty and dark and distant, quiet and understanding in that. because I wanted to use this, and make you a morning, a day, to smile, a smile. My greatest work; just one smile for you, for tomorrow, understanding that every single day is hard. It's a fight. But every single day is also blessed, wracked with the infinite, pained in brilliance. I know that much. I feel these things, big illusive fish. They splash me, and sometimes I drown a little. Or I swim...

You need to help yourself, because there's so much more you deserve, so so so fucking much more. We never let go of our darknesses, because they make us bold in turn. But they can't shackle us forever. So, I'm going to stand on the edge of your darkness, staring into that night sky all 'round you. Except I'm friends with the darkness, I can slip a twenty in it's pocket, make it leave you alone for twenty minutes. Maybe not now, it may be rude to interrupt. But I can.

But, I believe in great things, shitty laughable things, the white in your bones, colours in your head, signs. So, I think, it has to be... 23. Maybe when we're both 23, you could finally see me through the darkness, and meet me there. I could mumble, and you could stumble (I don't like that that rhymes.) We don't have to wait forever.

But, the task at hand, more importantly. I gave the darkness a fiver. And I got this smile. And it's for you, for tomorrow. I hope that it finds you. I gave it to the light, to pass along (but light has a complex, what with everyone on it's wagon and all, and keeps what it finds, sometimes. But I'll put it's light's out if it does -- I think that's the phrase.)

I'm here, I'm now, I'm ready, holding on tight.