A letter, unsent.

dear you (whoever you may be and however i shall have you),

I long to feel your tiny hand curling around my little finger, as that rush and burble of love surrounds my heart. I long to kiss your soft skin, coaxing a laugh from your wide eyes, and fragile face. It won't be easy, love. I won't be the perfect mother. And I know there will be days when I'm spent and on edge--but there'll be moments ( unfolding themselves all the time) where my heart beats gently, and yet almost fit to burst at the bundle of love that I (and the one I love, and love still) have made together.

You are his, and you are mine, and you are his and mine. But most importantly,you are yours. And that is the best thing I can teach you, my love. To be yourself. And if I shall do this, then whatever else I teach you matters a little less than this.

||

As a note of sorts. I'm young, and I'm pretty sure I won't be sending this for another ..15? years yet.