Dear First Love,

when you broke my heart,

it wasn’t because you didn’t love me anymore.

You broke my heart

because you changed

how I saw myself,

and in that

I’ve never been more heartbroken.

When I picked up the pieces of my heart,

I saw something much sadder.

You were not the first one to teach me to hate myself.

I was.

And so the work began

of loving myself again

or maybe for the first time.

He knew nothing of my story

or where I’d come from,

but he looked at me

like I was the most fantastic hurricane he had ever seen.

And in that moment I realized

I didn’t have to explain.

I had met someone

who could see through me.

I was a window

for the first time in my life.

I’d never felt so naked and afraid.

But I ran toward him,

not away.

I fear you’ll leave me

and that is so strange;

I am more whole when you are not here,

yet half full is what I dream of these days.

I ask you to stay

the same way

the sea

begs the shore

for more.

He went from man to giant,

casting a shadow over my life

so much so

I could not see anything but him.

That terrifies me:

how someone,

anyone

can block the light.

And one day

I hope

your path leads you

to a place

where you love yourself

as much as I love you.

Perhaps then

you will understand

how I

and so many others

fell madly

for you.

Leaving someone you love

is like leaving home

and knowing you can never return.

Missing you

is the cruelest thing I could do to my heart,

and maybe that’s why I do it:

it’s easier to hurt myself

than to love myself.

I rewrite our history

like a novelist,

one sentence at a time

until each chapter is entirely fictionalized.

But, oh, how beautifully it reads.

And sometimes people do change;

still, who they used to be stays sewn in our hearts like the faintest of scars.

We ask the question—

“Is it really possible to begin again?”

In heartbreak, remember:

You are but one life.

Millions have come before

and millions will come after.

They too

have shared

or will share

the same breaking of the heart

and survived.

When you lose someone you love

look up at the sky,

each day bleeds into night;

just like that

the moon arrives, the stars line the sky

and in mere moments

the night evaporates

into sunrise.

Ending and beginning

in darkness and in light,

that is the cycle

of this very life.

Dear Child,

I will not shame you for loving who you love.

Your magic is your untamed spirit.

Shame bleeds through

generation to generation;

that is not the legacy

I wish for you.

Even in culture and decade divides

I dream a life of love for you,

child of mine.

“What if there is not enough time?” the adult asked.

“Why is right now not enough?” the child responded.

Each time I fall back into my fifteen-year-old mind

I stand on my grown feet,

look into my grown eyes,

and remind myself—

“You are alive. Not for nothing. You are alive.”

I had all of the love in the world

but I could not see it.

We are blind

when we don’t know how

to love the very bones

and blood

that make us.

Peer into the depths of your soul

and see—

your magic exceeds that of the stars.

Imagine you are viewing the universe.

You are.

It is possible

for two hearts

to be sewn together,

bound

across borders and seas;

that heart

is a father’s heart

melting open

the first time he sees

his daughter.

Dear Brother,

you hold my secrets

like they are diamonds

and my trust like gold;

our hearts are woven together

as rebel kids

and grown adults.

You ask me what I wish for you.

I simply say,

cling to your inner child

as if childhood

were yesterday.

It would be a tragedy

if you settled for something

less extraordinary

than the magic

you hold.