Dearest L.A.M,

I don’t know how to tell you this, but I love you. I do. You’re an anomaly to me, too distorted and concerningly mature for me to imagine, but I do love you. For what it’s worth, I can relate to what you’ve been through, at least for the first sixteen years of your life. I have so many questions, too many to fit into just one letter:

Do you still adore writing about dark people and bright personalities you’ve yet to meet? Do you still love to travel to worlds that you can only dream of, for better or for worse? Or did you grow out of that? 

Do you still cry at romantic movies that end with a kiss that looks more disgusting than endearing? Do you still deal out your unamusing jokes and even worse music taste like cards in the hopes to lighten the mood? Or did you grow out of that? 

Do you still wish you were born prettier, with arms and legs like bamboo stalks and a stomach flat as the Middlewest? Do you still keep your stress just inside your cranium until it threatens to pull apart the very tissue holding you together? Or did you grow out of that?

Do you still melt your brain by watching animated shows so you can make a checklist of what you want in a friend? Do you still flip through Pinterest, searching like a rabid dog for the bedroom and partner you know, yet disregard, as just out of reach? Or did you grow out of that?

I hate this, you know? I hate the feeling of writing and not getting a response. I’ve spent so many days, so many hours, writing in journals where I spoke to no one. Spoke to nothing. It was comforting but in a shallow, hollow way that can only be filled by an answer. That’s what this feels like. I’ve made myself a small globe, a sphere only held together by typed letters and a train of thought. Inside, it is empty, but it won’t always be that way. One day, you’ll read this, and fill it with an answer. It doesn’t have to be kind or thoughtful, though it’s preferably won't be cruel or degrading either. Knowing you, I know you will. I know you’ll answer because, as much as you’ll have changed and grown, you’ll still be me.

I’m going to build you a good foundation, okay? I’m going to pour the concrete and put in the metal framing now so that you’ll be proud of me. So, believe in me like I believe in you. When you read this, it’ll be a bit late to believe in me, I suppose, but don’t let that stop you. Better late than never, right?

Yours truly, with every breath of my being,

You