in other news, i wrote a love letter.
see, i can bare my soul to strangers on the internet, but i can't tell my mother how i feel about having pasta for dinner.
the letters were stuck like an ink traffic jam, bottle-necking in the pen and refusing to pour out onto the page.
but my heart was a white blank page (and a swelling rage) when this began, and now it's black and blue in the best possible way, covered with the evidence of what loving you looks like.
look carefully and make sure not to touch the artwork, the sign says, except you're the artist so i really beg you to touch your masterpiece.
i've been working real hard, see, at mastering my emotions and letting them out and so i wrote a letter with the words 'i' and 'love' and 'you' in it, in that order, no other words between.
i'm tired of the space between us but i can't do much about it in the moment, so i forced through the blood clot and let the inky words flow, coursing across the page like an uninhibited river, Rapids and all.
and rapidly, the page filled, and then the next and the next and i wrote the words that i've dammed back for almost as long as i've known you, the words that the strangers on the internet know i feel and my mother claims she doesn't hear often enough.
and it's enough, i hope, the three words with strength to fell empires and dynasties and crack open the proud heart of a teenage girl, enough that you (someday, when you really mean it) will say back