Dear friend ,
I don’t know you, but I know something about you. I know you’re tired.
I know you live with demons, ones that are close and loud.
I know how relentless they are in their pursuit of you.
I know that you spend your days trying to silence them and your nights trying to hide from them — and the hell they put you through.
Most of all, I know how hard you work to hide it all, to pretend you’re fine, to paint a convincing smile upon your face, and to act as if all is well with your battered soul.
I know that all of this has left you exhausted — that you’ve numbed yourself and hurt yourself and starved yourself in the hope that their voices will become silent and their fists will be lifted and you can finally breathe again.
I know that right now it doesn’t seem like that moment will ever come.
And even though I’m not standing in your shoes right now, and even though I don’t know you, and even though I have no right at all — I’m asking you to stick around.
I’m asking you to stay. To endure your incredibly painful, totally senseless now because I can see your glorious, blindingly beautiful then, if you do.
If you stick around, you will reach a spot that the sadness won’t let you see right now — you’ll reach tomorrow.
And that place is filled with possibility. It’s a day you’ve never been to. It’s not this terrible day. There, you will not feel exactly what you are feeling right now. You may be stronger, or see things differently, or find a clearing, and life may look a way it hasn’t in a long time: It may look like worth staying for.
Tomorrow is the place where hope lives, and I want you to give yourself a chance to share space with that hope — to dance with it, to rest in it, to dream within it because you deserve it.
