Dear I.,
I probably don’t need to tell you this—I hope you hear it often and believe it—but you have possibly the most stunning eyes I’ve ever seen. I’m not hitting on you; I feel the need to say that to nearly everyone because nearly everyone wants something from nearly everyone. I probably don’t need to tell you that, either. We are lucky because our first contact with so many people is through their most careful, sparkling, chosen words. You are lucky because you’re young and all the dance floors are for you, and I am lucky because I felt young when I read your poem, chose it, stood up in front of your peers and asked them to choose it, embraced you, whispered don’t you ever stop doing this into your young ears, not far from your stunning eyes. It’s fine if you don’t remember that—I’d be too lucky if you did. I’m not claiming you. Those twin crystals in your photos, your poem that was your energy’s first shimmy across my energy, they are mine only to witness because you offer them. You dance and love and write somewhere in this world and I’m so glad. I needed to tell you that because these letters are about what and who I’d lose if I dropped offline. How people see one another through a screen. How need can play out without (I hope) intrusion. How to admire, freestyle. How to change the color of my own eyes.
xo S
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another writing mom 