I’m writing to you today, dear reader, to tell you why I’m writing.

To heal the world. To rewrite the story that I inherited. To save my own life,

To record that first iris, and the lilac that just opened to give us that morning rain smell.

To tell you the story of waking up at four am to wild coyotesong

To remind you that I stand behind you,

I have your back when you get that feeling like your skin is being peeled away because of exposure, because they have seen the thing you never wanted them to see, that true thing

When they throw tomatoes at you, real or imagined, and you feel them splat all around you, no one ever tells you how much they hurt, those red stone missiles that leak pulp and annoying little seeds

I have your back

When you are kicking your own ass because you can’t get out of bed because it is a destruction day instead of a creation day

I am writing for that

When you are swimming in seductive death dreams, when you lose your marbles and you watch them roll away into corners, under desks, never to be gathered together in the same way again

I know you

When you are falling into the pit and you know it has no bottom and there is nothing to hang onto, remember your breath makes treesong

If your heart is still pulsing, there is something you know how to do that no one else knows. We need you to do that thing you do.

The hole is so big when you are gone. No one else can fill it.
I love you. So I keep writing.