#14

When you sing, you pray twice.
I can't wait until we're able to pray
one million trillion times a day.

#13

Some days
you don't hurt.
Thank God.

#12

Today someone asked
if you still make me happy.
I told them no,
but I also learned today
that children don't make us happy,
even though we think that they do.
I promise to care for you as if you were my child.

Let's pray that, like being thirteen, this too shall pass.

#11

I'm still not used to you being so delicate.

#10

If my heart is only metaphorically broken,
then why is it still racing?

#9

You matter.

So, what are all of these numbers about?

I've started writing love letters.
To my voice.

You see, as much as I involve myself in any other activity, the way my throat feels is always one of the dominant thoughts in my mind. That tends to happen when speaking about other things (which should be a distraction) is painful enough to draw attention to the very thing that you might want to set aside for a while.

So I can't ignore my voice, even if I wanted to... which I really don't.

But the thing is, I need these reminders of why I even bother to keep going against the pain and setbacks and frustrations.

I need the reminders of why I love this part of me so much.

I need these reminders of why other people love this part of me so much.

So, from now on, I'm going to try my best to write one love letter/poem to my voice per day... which really means that I'm using my inner voice to communicate with my outer voice. Deep stuff, huh?

I can't promise that I'll be able to do this daily. I'm a college student after all. I can guarantee, however, that these letters will be almost as much about me and my life as they are about my voice, because we're all really intertwined right now and probably always will be.

I'm not going to advertise these letters on facebook unless I think they're particularly important, but you can go ahead and put your email address in the follow by email box on the right side of the screen to get updates whenever I post something new.