We Love You.

We Love You.

It’s okay, Snap.

No one is monitoring you. No one is judging your every move.

No one is clicking her tongue at the dishes piling up;

No one is documenting the clutter on the dining room table.

No one is disappointed in how little you did today. How little reading, how little artistic output.

No one.

. . .

You can worry, yes. You can twist your growing stomach into knots.

You can carry the pain of ignorance, intolerance, and injustice. You can let it gnaw at your brain like a buzzard.

What did you do wrong?

How did things get so short-sighted, so one-dimensional?

You can worry, Snap.

Or, you can focus on the song of the bluebird.

. . .

You are an adult.

You are intelligent.

You are worthy of love.

And you sure as fuck aren’t going to feel bad for being you.

. . .

We love you.

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