The Girl Who Lived

December 25th, 2015

Dear Sophia,

You are the girl who lived—
the girl who lived with her heart outside of her ribcages.

You are the girl who doesn't wear a coat,
never carries an umbrella,
living so fully that you feel every day like it's Coachella.

For you, rain is nature's music on full blast,
it's tempo marking simply reads "fast".
And before it's past nine,
you'll ask those new strangers to dine,
and afterwards we'll all dance,
like it's our last chance.

And when you sing, you taste the high notes,
like they're as savory as oats,
and you feel the low notes,
trembling through your body
like they're the powerful engines of large boats,
just like the kind that you use to sail the seas on all of your adventures across the world.

You are the girl whom I'm lucky enough to call my friend,
the one who's always there in the end.
You send me care packages,
not by way of mail,
and they can't be measured on a scale,
but when I'm off the rail,
your words remind me what matters,
and help me grind through the chatter
that knaws constantly at my mind.

Sophia, you are magnificent.
Thank you for feeling.
Thank your for your daring.
Thank you for your loving.
Please keep your heart out—for all of us.