A Letter to Livvy

January 10, 2018

 

Dear Livvy, 

 

 

I’ve been writing a lot of letters lately. It’s part of a New Year’s Resolution to really start telling people how I feel, and I guess it never really occurred to me to write one to you until I started typing. There’s so many things I feel like I’m supposed to say: we’re at the threshold of our second semester in Senior year; we’re applying to college and thinking seriously about the future. We’re navigating a new world where we’ve seen our older brother cry for the first time and people can just suddenly fall out of love with us and not everything has a happy ending. We’re dealing with the aftermath of an injury that sent everything, both literally and figuratively, spinning out of control. 

There are so many things I’m afraid that we’ll forget, caught up in new friends and decorating dorm rooms and college food and flipping through textbooks. Don’t forget the feeling of a cat curling up at your feet right as you start to fall asleep. Don’t forget singing Taylor Swift at the top of your lungs in the back of the car, or that customer at work who told you you were beautiful. Don’t forget how it feels when you finally make him laugh, or how silly you must have looked making faces at the cars next to you while he drives. Don’t forget how many people say your name when you’re walking down the halls of school. Don’t forget how she steadied you when you were slipping and sliding down the snowy pathway, and don’t forget striking poses on the carousel like little kids and writing “I love you” on the wall. 

 

 

But while you’re remembering those things, Livvy, keep growing into the beautiful person you are. Keep laughing, even when the people around you don’t laugh with you. Keep being kind. Keep reaching out, even when they throw parties without you and make sure to talk about them when you’re in the room. Keep getting down on your knees and playing good guys/bad guys with little kids. Keep writing poetry, and novels, and dialogue down the side of your math worksheets and monologues on crumpled napkins. Yes, keep writing poetry, even when he crumples it up and throws it out. In fact, keep writing cheesy love poetry, but shake the rust of his ocean-blue eyes off of your fingers and write cheesy love poetry about your cat, or the way it feels to walk down the street holding her hand or what you would do with one afternoon alone with your hands in her hair. And, yes, keep writing novels, even when they aren’t totally making sense and you haven’t been able to climb over the wall blocking your view of the plot for months and months. God, Livvy, keep drinking tea and taking walks in the cold and keep laughing a little too loud and keep daydreaming. But most of all, keep writing letters. 

 

I love you.

 

Livvy, 2018