15:20. Listening to Alec Benjamin’s Match In The Rain.
We are talking for hours, laughing. I think this is the first time you open up to me. The first time you lower your guard and look me in the eye, telling me stories that you usually save for people outside family. Because despite everything, you know that no single person owns your every pieces. You choose them. You choose which piece. I do the same. I don’t expect you to give me enough pieces of you, to trust me enough to share silly stories of your life.
When you grow up, I want you to know that I am here, so does your other sisters. That you can trust us without having to tell us everything. I think that’s the advantage of family. Trust is earned in a different way. Love is given in a whole different way. I can be selfless for you. I can be selfish because it is you. I want you to know that you the freedom to choose us, every time.
When you grow up, you will understand what I say and you will know that you are loved. I want you to know that you are a dear one to me, that you’ve saved many times through difficult times in my life.
It’s a letter to a girl who locks her door because she is afraid people will judge her, from another girl who once locked her door because she was afraid of losing herself in front of other people’s judgement.
You are loved. I love you. So be brave. Be happy.
Sleep tight tonight–you are loved.