Dear... The Sick Teenage Girl
I read your letter. You may never read mine, maybe you have been scrounging the website for replies.
You chose to open this letter.
I do think about the past.
I think about where I came from, where I was, where those that came before me were.
Silently thinking about the people from 100 years ago.
Today I am alive, but barely.
Today I laughed. I skipped down the hallway with my best friend. I danced my way into English class. I slept in my warm bed. I wrote short stories.
I know you won't find these things insignificant because I did not find your little joys the same.
We are breathing the same air as we laugh and sing. We touch the same ground as we dance and sleep.
Today we are alive. Tomorrow we may not be. Adam Silvera once said "I write short stories because I am one." And I cannot find that to be more true.
But we will be the people turning our short stories into whole novels.
It's never too late.