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“Do not lose hope. Please believe there are a thousand beautiful things waiting for you.”

I’ve spent my whole life daydreaming. It embarrasses me to think of tallying the hours. It feels like ingratitude. It feels like infidelity. It’s often been about infidelity. I’ve daydreamed while walking, while running, while drinking, while smoking—sitting in the Boston cold, seventeen years old, daydreams sprouting like so many weeds from the cracked sidewalk of a broken heart. I’ve daydreamed on every form of transport—something about commuting feels conducive to daydreaming, the pockets of time in between our commitments, and the fact of the body in motion, neither here nor there, available for an elsewhere. I’ve daydreamed to music and in silence, in solitude and in company. It’s hardly exceptional.

Someone somewhere is searching for you in every person they meet.

i am eighteen, standing here with withered sunflowers in my hand and i’m telling you i’ve never felt younger. look, there’s a river, there’s a flood and we’re drowning ourselves in some kind of ancient hunger. am i tragically beautiful enough for the wounds under this blood-soaked sundress, under the very surface of my skin to matter? someone once said we’re just cosmic jokes and if that’s true, then the biggest one is i still think of myself as nothing more than someone’s daughter. i’m at this crimson threshold, screaming at the top of my lungs but i wonder if you can hear me over the roaring thunder.

Go and love someone exactly as they are. then, watch how they transform into the greatest truest version of themselves. when one feels seen and appreciated in their own essence, one is instantly empowered.