settle down with a story, learn to live constantly, rather than in leaps and gasps. Little moments are precious treasures though; collect them, write about them, feel everything that is ought to be felt.  

Steep yourself like tea; laze in warmth, seep in that couch and finger the plaid coverlet worn with age now. These coverlets; they are now relics of a bygone era and you know that. Treasure them nonetheless.  Run your fingers over each stitch; it was made with care. In these moments, exist languidly and proudly, and stretch yourself out to realize just how big you have become.

For you, I have left three crates of books in my apartment; two boxes have been read, notated, and worn by cautious fingers. One has been left unread, aged by time; the books will smell of yellowed paper and the covers will be dusted over. I have collected them, from libraries to garage sales, and now I impart their wisdom onto you.

Fear is primal and raw, it latches onto you and won’t let go, until you let it. Trust yourself to know when to let go.

Time is aching, it is beautiful, it is as steady as a lake, and it carries on like a wave of water, pulling out and coming in again to lap at your toes. Let yourself sit by the shore and watch the tide.

Remember to breathe. Remember that tomorrow exists, and a hundred more tomorrows afterwards. Remember this.

—to cardinals, with love