Dear Taylor,

OR

If you want to make the cookies from scratch (that’s what I did for the 1989 Secret Sessions), you can use this recipe I found on a baking blog I like, joythebaker.com and I believe it was originally from a book called The Pastry Queen. If you want another great baking blog, I get a lot of great ideas from smittenkitchen.com too. This is a recipe for basic insanely good sugar cookies. I added the chai element to the recipe because I thought it would infuse cozy holiday vibez into the cookie and it really did. So I’ll star the part that I added in the recipe.

http://joythebaker.com/2009/06/giant-vanilla-sugar-cookies/

***after you add the egg and vanilla, cut one chai tea packet open and empty the crushed up tea leaves into the batter CAUSE CHAI COOKIES ARE ABOUT TO HAPPEN UP IN HERE***

I made an icing for the cookies, but they’re fine on their own. If you want to make icing for them, just mix 1 cup powdered sugar with 1/4 T-spoon of nutmeg, 1/4 T-spoon of cinnamon and 3 TAYblespoons <—-(I’m so annoying, it astounds me sometimes) of milk or eggnog if you can find it this time of year. The more milk/eggnog you add, the more your icing will become a glaze. But glazes are legit too so basically just LIVE YOUR LIFE.

I lightly sprinkled cinnamon over the icing once the cookies were baked and iced, but there are so many icing options you can pair with these cookies—I mean it’s out of control. If you’re really feeling like living on the edge, you can go ahead and add a few drops of food coloring to the icing to make it festive. No one is going to stop you.

Why?

Cause the bakers gonna bake bake bake bake bake.

You told us last night that Soon You'll Get Better is a hard song for you. To many, it may seem simplistic, as you sing 'I know I'll never get it', there's not a day I won't try'. That's the most important thing.

I'm a survivor of cancer myself. A survivor of Acute Lymphoblastic Leukaemia, which stole my childhood when I was only 9. It was a long fight, I had two intensive chemotherapy sessions, which caused me to lose my hair twice, as well as my strength. Every day was a struggle. I've blocked out most of the memories now, but sometimes they come back to me and hit me hard. My sister was 11 when I was diagnosed, she struggled to handle the news, as we were, and still are very close. We shared a bedroom, but most of the time I was in hospital, so she would tuck my dressing gown into my bed, but leave my covers as they were when I left.

Both my sister and my dad told me how they sat and cried at the traffic lights to a Take That song, on the way home from the hospital. My dad, who grew up, taught to believe men don't cry, cried with his daughter, because he feared losing me.

The highlight of every day for me was seeing my dad and my sister walk through the door and sit with me for a couple of hours on an evening, they'd have tea with me and my mum, and then they would leave. Everytime they left I wanted to cry. The one thing that pushed me on in this fight was my family.

I remember hearing my mum telling my sister what was wrong with me as I was waking up. I heard her say 'she has cancer'. She hadn't yet found a way to tell me. I remember when I was younger, hearing on the radio about a celebrity who had cancer and I told myself 'I'm never going to get that'. But there I was, 9 years old and laid in a hospital bed with a cancer of the blood. I knew my family were devastated, I was too. I wanted to cry. I was scared, but I didn't tell them that. A nurse came and explained to me what would happen. A tiny 9 year old child being told about having tubes inserted for chemotherapy and how I'll lose my hair, lose weight and grow so weak I wouldn't want to wake up on a morning. My mum said 'what are you thinking?' when she had finished. After weeks of being in hospital, dropping multiple kilograms of weight, I said 'I'm hungry' and for me, that was my promise to my mum that I would get better, that I would fight it and that I would win.

Here I am now, 22 years old. I have been clear of cancer for 11 years. My biggest fear is if it returns. I have been left with a permanent disability called Avascular Necrosis which means my hips will need to be replaced. I regularly get confronted about my disability, with people assuming I'm not disabled because it isn't visible. Why do I have to explain my disability to them? I've fought the wars, I'm living with the wounds and the scars but people can't let me live the way I need to.

I had two friends in hospital, both girls. They both died. One passed away when I was a short way into treatment, I remember hearing her screaming in pain in the night. The other girl, her cancer returned and took her life. I have since done a sponsored haircut, donated my hair to The Little Princess Trust and raised money in their memory, which was donated to the charity that supported the three of us and our families.

I have the memories and the scars from the journey that I passed through, but another thing I still have is you. I found your music during my battle. Love Story is the first song I heard and it gave me life. I would light up when I saw your music video on TV. I would watch and rewatch it. Then Speak Now came and it has been the album that will always be closest to my heart. This album was there for me when I was weak, it gave me strength. I was too weak to attend the tour, which I will regret eternally. I would do anything to have been able to attend. I spent Christmas in my room, watching the World Tour DVD and wishing I was there. By the time Red came, I was better. Still living with the hospital appointments for check ups and the side effects treatment had left, my strength was still returning, but your music gave me life.

Long Live is, and will always be, the closest song to my heart. Your lyrics perfectly describe my story. 'You trade your baseball cap for a crown' - I used to wear baseball caps when I had no hair, as opposed to wigs. I stopped wearing them when my hair grew back, I see my hair as my crown. 'The time we stood with our shaking hands, the crowds in stands went wild' - I was scared, but I had so many people cheering me on, so many people who believed in me. 'All the mountains we moved'/'Had the time of my life fighting dragons with you' we, me, my family and you, literally moved mountains for me to get better and it was such a difficult fight to face. There are so many more lyrics that hit close to home in this song, but it would be a full song analysis if I went on.

When 1989 came out, I finally got to see you on Tour. On the 24th June 2015, you were in the same room as me. You had no idea, from my view, you were a dot, but it meant the WORLD. On the 8th June 2017, I saw you for reputation in Manchester, I so desperately wanted to go to both nights, but I couldn't. I was closer to you this time though, I could see you. Again, you didn't know I was there, but it meant so much. But what meant the most to me, was the fact that you performed Long Live, and it was on the piano too. It was like you knew. In those moments, it felt like it was just me and you in the room.

In this picture, which was taken at the Candlelighters Christmas Charity Ball (my supporting charity), I was in remission, I was getting better. I still took lots of tablets daily and my hair was longer than it had been in such a long time!

In this picture I had not long been in remission although I was still weak and poorly. My sister (in the blue) actually cut most of her hair off in support of me. To this day, she describes herself as looking like an apple. She hated it! But her hair grew back, mine did too. My hair actually grew back curly, as you see in the picture, but as it got longer the curls dropped out, I miss them. The dog (Ollie) was my best friend. We got him from an 8 week old puppy (I bribed my parents for a dog while I was on steroids 🙄) and he chose me, he came and sat on my foot!! He was gorgeous. On good days, he would play with me, on bad days, he would lay with me. He was always with me. Always. Unfortunately, as I got better, on the 25th December 2010, Ollie got hit by a speeding taxi. It paralysed him. I was devastated. I remember the way he looked at me still with his green eyes. On the 26th December we were told he could be operated on, but would be on wheels or it may not work, there was no other option. We decided to put him to sleep and stop the pain. Ollie went to sleep with head resting on my knees, with me whispering into his ear that I love him. I still do. I love him and I miss him.

You told us last night that Soon You'll Get Better is a hard song for you. To many, it may seem simplistic, as you sing 'I know I'll never get it', there's not a day I won't try'. That's the most important thing.

I'm a survivor of cancer myself. A survivor of Acute Lymphoblastic Leukaemia, which stole my childhood when I was only 9. It was a long fight, I had two intensive chemotherapy sessions, which caused me to lose my hair twice, as well as my strength. Every day was a struggle. I've blocked out most of the memories now, but sometimes they come back to me and hit me hard. My sister was 11 when I was diagnosed, she struggled to handle the news, as we were, and still are very close. We shared a bedroom, but most of the time I was in hospital, so she would tuck my dressing gown into my bed, but leave my covers as they were when I left.

Both my sister and my dad told me how they sat and cried at the traffic lights to a Take That song, on the way home from the hospital. My dad, who grew up, taught to believe men don't cry, cried with his daughter, because he feared losing me.

The highlight of every day for me was seeing my dad and my sister walk through the door and sit with me for a couple of hours on an evening, they'd have tea with me and my mum, and then they would leave. Everytime they left I wanted to cry. The one thing that pushed me on in this fight was my family.

I remember hearing my mum telling my sister what was wrong with me as I was waking up. I heard her say 'she has cancer'. She hadn't yet found a way to tell me. I remember when I was younger, hearing on the radio about a celebrity who had cancer and I told myself 'I'm never going to get that'. But there I was, 9 years old and laid in a hospital bed with a cancer of the blood. I knew my family were devastated, I was too. I wanted to cry. I was scared, but I didn't tell them that. A nurse came and explained to me what would happen. A tiny 9 year old child being told about having tubes inserted for chemotherapy and how I'll lose my hair, lose weight and grow so weak I wouldn't want to wake up on a morning. My mum said 'what are you thinking?' when she had finished. After weeks of being in hospital, dropping multiple kilograms of weight, I said 'I'm hungry' and for me, that was my promise to my mum that I would get better, that I would fight it and that I would win.

Here I am now, 22 years old. I have been clear of cancer for 11 years. My biggest fear is if it returns. I have been left with a permanent disability called Avascular Necrosis which means my hips will need to be replaced. I regularly get confronted about my disability, with people assuming I'm not disabled because it isn't visible. Why do I have to explain my disability to them? I've fought the wars, I'm living with the wounds and the scars but people can't let me live the way I need to.

I had two friends in hospital, both girls. They both died. One passed away when I was a short way into treatment, I remember hearing her screaming in pain in the night. The other girl, her cancer returned and took her life. I have since done a sponsored haircut, donated my hair to The Little Princess Trust and raised money in their memory, which was donated to the charity that supported the three of us and our families.

I have the memories and the scars from the journey that I passed through, but another thing I still have is you. I found your music during my battle. Love Story is the first song I heard and it gave me life. I would light up when I saw your music video on TV. I would watch and rewatch it. Then Speak Now came and it has been the album that will always be closest to my heart. This album was there for me when I was weak, it gave me strength. I was too weak to attend the tour, which I will regret eternally. I would do anything to have been able to attend. I spent Christmas in my room, watching the World Tour DVD and wishing I was there. By the time Red came, I was better. Still living with the hospital appointments for check ups and the side effects treatment had left, my strength was still returning, but your music gave me life.

Long Live is, and will always be, the closest song to my heart. Your lyrics perfectly describe my story. 'You trade your baseball cap for a crown' - I used to wear baseball caps when I had no hair, as opposed to wigs. I stopped wearing them when my hair grew back, I see my hair as my crown. 'The time we stood with our shaking hands, the crowds in stands went wild' - I was scared, but I had so many people cheering me on, so many people who believed in me. 'All the mountains we moved'/'Had the time of my life fighting dragons with you' we, me, my family and you, literally moved mountains for me to get better and it was such a difficult fight to face. There are so many more lyrics that hit close to home in this song, but it would be a full song analysis if I went on.

When 1989 came out, I finally got to see you on Tour. On the 24th June 2015, you were in the same room as me. You had no idea, from my view, you were a dot, but it meant the WORLD. On the 8th June 2017, I saw you for reputation in Manchester, I so desperately wanted to go to both nights, but I couldn't. I was closer to you this time though, I could see you. Again, you didn't know I was there, but it meant so much. But what meant the most to me, was the fact that you performed Long Live, and it was on the piano too. It was like you knew. In those moments, it felt like it was just me and you in the room.

In this picture, which was taken at the Candlelighters Christmas Charity Ball (my supporting charity), I was in remission, I was getting better. I still took lots of tablets daily and my hair was longer than it had been in such a long time!