I wanted to tell you that I see you through and through.
I see you constantly observing every emotion that surrounds you. I see you absorbing grief, sadness, anger, confusion, loneliness, hard-work. I know that you make such emotions yours to deal with.
With deepest regret I will tell you, for the times you felt blue, left all alone, with nothing else to do. But gratitude blooms, for a choice you did make, not succumbing to sorrow, for your own sake. You danced with the demon, that loneliness brings, embraced your own company, the freedom it sings.
I am so proud of you. You offered your shoulder to anyone in need. You had this amazing gift of finding innocence within others, the child hidden beneath. It pains me to think of all the times you were alone. If I could go back, I would have been there. We would have built mud castles, raced through fields, and marvelled at the wonders of nature — tiny insects, delicate flower veins, and the stories hidden in broken things. Every song you hummed, every picture you drew, every thought you shared — I would have cherished them too. No idea was ever too silly, no creation too insignificant.
You were a silent observer, taking in the world around you. Even in a world often focused on self, your heart yearned to help. Yet, at eight years old, you possessed an incredible strength — the ability to comfort those in grief and simply exist with belief. And that smile — the one you offered to everyone you met — I am thankful for all the warmth you’ve spread.
A whispered secret: on the cusp of 22, I confess a truth. We share a flicker of innocent life that persists, despite the world’s attempts to dim it.
