I gave people beauty — I didn’t always believe in it.
There’s a lot I can say about a lot of things. In fact, I have been a lot of different women over my years. Sometimes I prove to be so rootless and malleable that it is hard to remember that I am a woman at all — that these letters are not somehow writing themselves, and the me that you love is not only a shadow holding a pen.
It’s funny how I get started saying ‘love.’
My mouth is wide and awkward. There is space enough for the word, but it never seems to fit. It spills between the cracks in my teeth, plasters my tongue against the roof of my mouth. I wanted to be eloquent, but even with all the poetry in the world, I was only making castles out of cigarette butts and beer bottles.
We can’t always choose where we come from.
Or how we get out.
And we can’t always guarantee a clean break —
though I broke.
What you see isn’t always me. Sometimes it’s just the pieces. And sometimes the pieces aren’t worth very much. There are days when I wish I had the right apologies, but sometimes I’m still learning how to be kind to myself, how to be gentle.
I beg your patience.
For all I cannot do, for all I am still learning to do, no one will love you as I do. I cannot promise you much, but I can promise you that. No one will go half blind the way I do when you sigh in your sleep. When you press and touch. When you smile. No one will be unable to bear the beauty of your small moments like me.