Dear Mom

This is my first letter to you.

I never asked to be born. 

Neither did you or your mom. 

Neither did Dad and his dad. 

None of us get a choice,

but here we are

breathing and feeling.

I’d sit in the room while you’d shower because I was afraid.

What are you so afraid of? 

Everything.

I said everything because I couldn’t tell you that I was scared 

of living a life I didn’t know how to live. 

And I couldn’t tell you because I didn’t know how to.

But I wonder if you also feel lonely. 

I wonder if you’ve ever seen yourself in me 

like I’ve seen myself in you.  

When grandma looks at the planes in the sky,

she thinks that they are stars.

The weight of it all feels so heavy.

But still, we keep breathing and feeling. 

Years ago, 

when we would always cut each other’s hair 

to save money, 

I tried to cut yours the same length as mine. 

We would begin the same, 

grow the same, 

end the same. 

That’s what I wanted.

But as you grew older, 

your hair fell out, 

shortening, 

growing backward, 

while my hair thickened and grew forward. 

It became longer and heavier, 

as if I took in everything 

you once had. 

I realized that the distance between us makes us feel lonely. 

Distance makes anything possible, 

but it makes being one, impossible.

Everything happened so this moment right now could happen, 

even if the things that happened make us feel alone.

Every reason not to be vulnerable is also every reason to try. 

So as afraid as I am, I’m willing to try 

for you.

I wonder if love is something you don’t find, 

but realize?

You have always loved

in the quietest ways. 

Quiet like the areas of the floor that creak—

those tiny cracks in the walls

and our dying, 

flickering lights.

I tell you I love you in everything I’ve forgotten. 

I tell you I love you by not telling you I love you. 

It’s okay that you can’t tell me you’re proud of me. 

It’s okay if you can’t tell me you love me too.

It’s hard to live in the world, 

but if I love you, 

I love the world that shaped you too.

This letter is like an empty envelope. 

One day you will receive this and not be able to read it. 

But it’s something you can hold, 

and use it to wipe your tears. 

So yes,

I think love is something you don’t find

but realize —

that to love, we just need to exist

and everything I ever needed from you, 

has always been there.

With all the love I can’t give,

Your daughter