Dear No. 17,

Thank you for everything you do for me, and giving me the life I have. I don’t say it enough, but I hope you know how eternally grateful I am for loving me as your own, for supporting me financially, for checking in on me, for loving me. I know we don’t often talk about emotions, but I like that we don’t have to. I know we’re somewhat untraditional, but you’re able to read me. You know when I’m sad, or when I’m happy, and you respond accordingly. You don’t smother me, you give me the space to learn and grown as an individual. I see you more as my peer than anything else. You’ve always made it clear that I have my own choices.

You are the most self-less person I know. Countless times you carry the shit no one else wants to, without being asked. You put yourself last, and you know how I feel about that. More recently I’ve noticed you changing, growing. You’ve started caring about yourself, which is an act of love for others as much as it is yourself. It’s amazing to watch you grow and morph into a new iteration yourself. I’ve always thought aging to be a fairly gruesome act, but you’ve transitioned so gracefully, growing more curious and critical with each day.

I’ll never find the “perfect” words to describe the love I have for you, but maybe that’s what makes it so perfect, the intangible. I love you lots, and please take care, for me.


P.S. Your goodnight bitmojis are the highlight of my night, please don’t stop.

©2020 maura lian