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I can’t wait

Dearest Heart,

You are not in my life yet. The truth is I don’t know if you ever will be. Either in my life or simply be. We humans lack the ability of foresight though we like to pretend to powers of prophecy and destiny. We let our hope get away from us; we allow ourselves to believe that all of our will and all of our might can manifest something solid.

It can manifest something real, yes, but not corporeal. Not something that can be touched and breathed into being.

You are one of those things I hope for. You, in this case, is gender-unspecific: I’m not sure if you’re a girl or a boy, but you are dear to me, and if you do come to be, you will be the heart I wear on the outside of my body, the one that I will protect at all costs, I will cherish with every breath, and will give me reason for working, for struggling, for living, yes, even living, you will be that reason.

You will be the heart that grows from my own.

I wish that I could tell you that you’ll come into a perfect world. You won’t and I’m sorry for that but there is nothing that I can do about it. People will say mean things and they will hurt you. Sticks and stones do break bones and beings; trust is a precious thing that is often wasted on people untrustworthy; heroes can be real but they are hard to find; you will fail and you will cry and you will bump into things that go bump in the night; and you will survive it all. If you want to.

That I can promise you: you will survive it all if you want to.

And you’ll have reasons to want to persevere and make it through the struggle. You will also meet people who will lift you up on wings; their passion will spin you around and toss you in the air and give you laughter and take away your breath. You will see things, wondrous things, some man-made, some not, some tiny and some vast, and the world will always be full of wonders unimaginable as long as you look through it with more than just the physical eyes you’ll have but with your heart (oh, yes, you are not just my second heart but you will possess one of your own and it will beat to its own drum). You will bury your fingers in the dirt and feel every grain and you will roll in grass and hang from trees and be so very much involved in the living, that the bad that there is can and will be overtaken by the good, the grand, and the amazing.

That’s why you’ll persevere because you’ll know it’s worth it. For me, you will be worth it. And for you, someone else will be worth it, and this is why we carry on.

Because, we don’t carry on for accolades or awards or trophies. We don’t carry on for the praise of man. No, we carry on for man, for the human story is a story that begins with one human being but does not end as long as man walks the face of this planet or some planet or floats in space or swims in the depths; no, as long as there is a human being, there is a story, and you will be part of it. You will have your chapters and your story will be interwoven into someone else’s, and that great fabric that stretches back through the histories and forward into the futures is made up of each individual thread and we all yearn to give that thread strength and value and worth as we wrap it around the threads of others.

Oh my little dearest heart, I can’t wait to meet you, to meet all of your smiles and gasps and giggles and to see all of your toes and fingers and the dimples of your elbows and the squints of your eyes. I can’t wait to meet you to tell you my story so that you can start yours.

I can’t wait.

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About Quinn

In it but not of it. A reformed player, now watcher. Speaker of raw truths.

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Raison d’etre

"Raw," she said. "I want something primal. I want something bare and naked. I want you to give me this life raw, unbidden, unhidden, free, fair, and true. Can you do that? Can you do that for me?"

One may only try.

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