''We haven't met, but I wrote you a letter.''

Dear You,
(Yes, you reading this)

Wow. You are outstanding. I admire you so much more than you can fathom. Your soul is beautiful- shining (brighter than my future), glorious, breathtaking. Despite how much times you chuckle with your satire humor about the pitch black planes stretched beyond your pellucid glass windows, situated at a small corner of your cramped room, being almost as dark as your cracked spirit- I can never pull my line of vision from your radiance. You have survived so far- up until this point in your life 100% of your bitter cold hours—wow, how much years is that? You beat all of it. This seeming to be circle of unimaginative routine- the real world, it is going to get better, I promise. Your hard worked efforts that thieved your blood, sweat, and tears are not in vain, the ones- the efforts that sometimes you wonder if it's even worth it because no one even knows or can fully understand how persistent and hard you fight to accomplish them- you will find successfulness and content in your decelerating heartbeat.

On certain days you'll chime into the string of words above and throw your head to the side, gazing upon me with your exhausted orbs- who at this point just wishes with undeniable pang to break into tears and fall into mindless slumber. You wonder with a tinge of ridicule, "What efforts?". The moments where you loafed around in an idle presence- ignoring the world as depression engulfed your berated existence presses against the bleak plane of your mind as though sneering. On those certain days, I respond to you in a low impromptu whisper as though an enchanting secret between us, "The effort it took for you to get out of bed, to smile, to move on, to love, to be there for others, to paint your artificial happiness over your fractured grin that radiates brighter than the stars hovering over us as though a UFO sending signals to our planet about a future alien invasion," I follow the string of words that sped up in an exhilarated fashion as I neared the end with a much too humored laugh after catching myself getting carried away once more in a cord of supernatural fantasies. "The efforts it took for you to live and be strong, those efforts." I seal my sentence succeeding a melody of inelegant laughter creased into the still folds of our rotating earth. Affluent silence slips into the comforting space segregating the both of us.

And I know; I understand that at that moment anything besides believing my saccharine strand of words would come to you as truthful comfort. The mellow fragrance of the demon who sleeps within you- who embraced you when no one else would, when you were afraid, alone, and hopeless- graces my sense of stifled scent you would sometimes joke about being overdue for a belated doctor’s check up. I understand it's difficult, and through your exhausted pair of orbs, seemingly impossible- to let go of what built you up then broke you down. But then, after a comfortable pause, I will incline to your side and whisper into your cold bitten ear, hoping from the depths of my pleading despair that you will have confidence in me this one last time through this closing line, “I believe in you, and I care about you.”

So dear You,
(Yes, you reading this)
Because the world isn’t as bad as you think,
Thank you, for existing.