April's love letters being so tremendously delayed speaks volumes. Still far from the showers and the flowers, I am a mass of extremes---sorry/grateful, regretful/happy, (more on this soon). As I type belated love notes, a Ring-Pop on my ring-finger, I am reminded to think whimsy. Of all the reasons-I-have-to-be-happy-in-spite-of. Of all the happy-is-what-happy-does. Of all the hyphenated happiness.
Dear Spring Break,
A breath of fresh air and extra doses of laughter. I had forgotten what it felt like when the weight was off my shoulders.
You were a doozy: after days of making videos, I don't think I've ever laughed so frustratedly or grimaced so joyously.
You were a good idea.
I was overzealous and bought the whole thing. Thank you for not laughing at me as I spent all day asking you to cook faster. Thank you for letting me keep my Passover-Points.
Dear Park Slope,
You're a whole other world. Thank you for pie and adventures.
You remind me of all the reasons I want to be a dreamer, even when times are hard.
I don't really like adulting with you. But I can. And that's pretty cool.
I am the luckiest. You remind me how to smile, when the world feels too heavy.
Dear New York,
I love comfy pants and giant sweaters with you.
(you're the) One.
Dear Poem in Your Pocket Day,
"I said to the sun/tell me about the Big Bang./ The sun said "it hurts to become."/I carry that hurt on the tip of my tongue."
Dear Chocolate Lab,
Will you be my puppy?
Dear Lit Mag,
I'm proud of you.
I was an open palm; a heartbeat; pride personified. The bigger your twirls, your smiles, your voices--you are why I do this. You are all it's for.
This is Me:
My name's Melissa. I'm the girl with her hands in her journal.