Love Letters & Thank You Notes

As a hopeless romantic, love letters have always been the easiest things for me to write. Love letters to boys, my mom, to feelings I wish I could hold close when they haven’t come around for a while.

It has always been easy. This one was laboured.

Dear you,

I have spent twenty-five years fighting with you. Punishing you for straining the buttons on my favourite jeans, and letting my bra straps dig into you. I’ve told you time and time again that you’re the reason that the love I’ve given away hasn’t been met. I’ve been mean to you. I’ve starved, gorged, shrouded, and belittled you despite all of the beautiful memories you’ve saved for me on your skin.

I’ve tried to erase your scars – the fabric burns that litter your arms that I was awarded after completing the wildfire fitness test. My greatest accomplishment and hardest loss to date. The barbed wire marks under your bathing suit line that I won for you in a race through the backcountry after tasting whiskey for the first time. The spaces on your right shoulder that will no longer tan since I got caught up worshipping the sun in Costa Rica many years ago. The patchwork tapestry of bruises and abrasions that meet me in the mirror are documentation of a life well lived.

What you couldn’t save I tattooed.

I cover up your freckles even though they remind me of sun kissed Sunday mornings laying in the hammock at the Fairmount Drive house, before I found out that there’s more to life than just lemonade stands.

I avoid being caught in profile to hide a nose I never loved, even though it’s the only thing you have of Dad’s since he left.

I’ve cut you off from the simple pleasures in life time and time again to service a scale that has never truly made a difference in the quality of our life. Every love we’ve ever wanted has laid beside us despite what number value we’ve held.

Of all the things I regret the most, I’ve forgotten to thank you for laboring on day one to give me the healthiest lungs possible, allowing me to summit every mountain I’ve set my eyes on. For the laugh that sounds like my sisters when I’m missing her the most. For my height, which I berate, though it allowed me to develop my love of rollercoasters young.

For the smile that matches my mothers and a heart that has been waged war on but will always be open to those who need a piece of it.

Thank you for loving me even on the days I couldn’t let myself love you.