Letter

I've known you nearly my whole life.

The years have seen us through so many ups and downs, fights and silences, and moments where we nearly seemed to have some sort of telepathic bond. We've shared friends and coffees, clothes, late nights, heartaches over boys who were never worth it in the first place. For what it's worth, I love you.

I know I give you grief sometimes. It's part of our bond, I think - you've broken my heart on numerous occasions. Yet somehow, the scars left behind always seem to heal up fainter and faster than the other scars it bears.

In the large family I've come to have through friendships, relationships, life or death moments, and childbirth, you've been there in it all along. There have been times when I wanted to shake you silly, but I know that at the same time, you were wanting to do the same to me.

We are strong, independent. We were given wings to fly where so many others were cursed - or blessed - to remain grounded. There are those in the gutter who see only the gutter. There are those who see the stars. And there are those like us who burn with some sort of inner fire so fierce that we are often mistaken for the stars themselves. We streak through the atmosphere of this small town, our pasts and tracks behind us clear for all to see, and legendary in some places. We know who we are, and we make our own way for ourselves and for our children.

There are times when I wished I could give you some of the strength, the refusal to back down, the fearlessness and confidence that I have in overabundance. Dear person, I give them to you now. Own them. Make them yours. You have the same flame within your spirit that I do. Allow it to burn bright. Stoke your fire, let it burn till it blinds those who would cause you grief.

Know that you are my family.

Know that I've got your back, no matter what.

Know that if you lack the strength to fight the battles necessary, that you can draw on mine.

Know that I love you.

Know that you are right.