Letters to Mom 017: Happy Late Mother’s Day

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I didn’t write on Mother’s Day.

I had a dream about mom the night before. I still remember it.

I was in a house. I was with other people though I don’t remember who they were. I remember that I knew them, but I’m not sure if it was family or close friends. We were supposed to be going somewhere, but mom had said she would be visiting and I really wanted to see her before we left the house. I knew I wouldn’t be able to see her again for a while. It was important that I be there. It was my one chance.

I remember the feelings of anxiety and worry. Mom was running late. Her flight was delayed and there was traffic and all of these things keeping her from getting to the house on time. The people I was with were getting annoyed with me because we ourselves were going to be late if we didn’t leave soon, but I kept asking for more time. Just a few more minutes. Please. She’s so close. Just a little longer…

I remember in the dream I was almost in tears but the other people wouldn’t wait any longer. It was so hard, so heavy, to close the front door, to turn the lock. It sounded so final; the door closing. It was like I had allowed myself to give up. It was me giving in. It was me walking away and not waiting. It was me caving to pressure.

I wanted to wait. I wanted to be there. I wanted to see my mom. But I wasn’t staying and that felt like a betrayal. I was making the wrong choice and I hated it but I didn’t know what else to do. I had to leave with them.

There was so much confliction inside me and still, I turned to walk away from the door. But just as I did there was a knock.

I knew it was her. I knew mom had finally arrived and I didn’t care if I was late to whatever it was I was supposed to go to. I turned around as fast as I could and unlocked the door, throwing it open without regard.

She was there. My mom was there. I threw my arms around her and hugged her and cried.

I heard her say my name over my tears.

I KNOW she said it. I can still feel it in my chest even though I honestly can’t remember what it sounded like.

I just… I know my dream was real and that mom is still here, in whatever way the Universe is allowing.

This Mother’s Day my mom gave me a gift instead of the other way around and I still cry when I think about it. Fucking tears…

I’m grateful for my dream.

Thank you, mom, for everything that you did in life and everything you continue to do for me. I’m sorry I didn’t write on Mother’s Day. I’m sorry I still get sad and have hard days like Tuesday.

I’m sorry I’m not doing better even though I know writing that will make you frustrated with me because I know I’m doing amazing right now. I’m doing so much better than I ever have before and that makes me angry and sad at the same time because I wish you were here so I could show you; so you could be part of it. I wish I could call you and tell you about everything. I wish you could come visit and watch me beat people with sticks at SCA practice and meet Ox and just… everything.

I love you, mom. I wish it hadn’t taken your death to make me the adult I am now. I wish we had had more time. I wish I had thought to ask you all the questions I have now. I wish I had listened to your stories more. I wish I knew more about the hardships you faced while you were growing up. I wish I had you the way so many people still have their mom, but at the same time I know we’re closer for what we went through.

Thank you for raising me. Thank you for the dreams I have of you. Thank you for helping me get through the hard times.

Happy late Mother’s Day, mom.

I love you. Forever and for always.

000: An Era of Hope

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Daily writing prompt
What cities do you want to visit?
View all responses

Across space and time, near and far, fictional worlds and battlefield scars.
The quiet places no one knows. The bleeding hearts and the broken homes.

I want to see the grief, the pain, the broken bone. Shattered buildings and crumbling roads.
Show me the shelters that were heaven within hell. The tears that flowed like invisible blood, unknown.

“That’s morbid.” “That’s fake.” “What’s the cost of compassion these days?”
And to you I say nothing, because my words aren’t for you.

They’re for the ones still struggling.
I know there’s more than a few.

I stand to say, I’m here.
I’m with you.
You’re not crazy, or insane.
Your reality isn’t fake.

I hear you.
Your screams into the void.
You’re late-night cries.
The fear of the monsters lurking within your head.

Show me every inch you had to survive.
Tell me how it cut you and bled you dry like wine.

Tell me your story, every suffering word.
I will stand silent guard, watching as you burn.

And in the ashes, as my soul shatters under the weight of your life,
I’ll gather you in my arms, and hug through the night.

You’re perfect. You’re pure. It was never your fault.
I’m sorry I didn’t listen. I’m sorry you ever felt so small.

I’m here. I know I’m late.
I never knew how much you hurt.
I know how much easier it would be to hate.

I’m proud of you.
There is no higher truth.
Surviving is brutal.
None of this is easy to do.

And yet, you’re here. Still breathing.
Still going. Somehow holding.

You’re fighting the fight. You’re saying this isn’t right.
You sincerely give a fuck, refusing to unsee the plight.

So burn to ash, my darling, baby phoenix. Rest your weary soul.
I’ve got this watch. And when the morning comes…
know you’ll burn like a star, becoming someone’s sun.

Your life matters more than you know.
There’s only one you. No one else has your glow.

Show me the cities hidden in your skin, the Romes no one knows.
The trauma and grief. Each and every shattered window.

Lay out all your pieces so we can make you whole.
From broken to art, stained glass can play a part.

You’re gorgeous. Handsome. Every single word.
Every wonderful thing and every unmarked tomb.

A contradiction. A paradox. A human to be sure. And yet…

At the core…

In the dark, alone, fighting not to give up…
It’s not Courage or Strength… no neither of them show up.

It’s the soft whispered sounds.
It is a gently clasped hand.
It’s the phone call that’s answered.
It’s the note that’s reread.

Hope. Connection. Unity. Having a common thread.
A single thing, a signal in an endless abyss.

Even here, even now, you’ve never been alone in this.

So rest, fierce dragon, brave knight, fair lady.
Mythic fey, epic creature.
Let sleep hold you as Hope softly sings her song.

Know your story matters.
Each chapter a stanza.
Every impact a note.
Pauses are part of the piece.
It -is- ok to take a breath.

You are a piece of art.
All great things take time.
Your story isn’t over.
And I promise you, neither is mine.

Embrace the ash. Sink into the rest.
That’s where your gains come from. When you stop trying to pass a test.

You’re already an achiever.
And it’s ok if you didn’t know.
So…
be fore I let you go…

Here’s a gold star. I made it just for you.
From one survivor to another, because trust me. I see you.

I know the effort. I know the cost.
I know the wounds you still carry,
even if it’s not mentioned in our talks.

This is for breathing.
For existing. Not for what you do.
You’ve earned it, simply by being here.
By being you.

So go on, little snowflake.
Be your special flavor of fun.
The world needs more of you.
Please tell me your story isn’t done.

Tell me about the rebuild.
The stand-up.
The moment you choose to keep going.
Take that step out into the unknown.

Once you wake, and there’s sun, and you see the morning light.
Let the ground greet your feet. Let it support your height.

Stand tall for but a moment.
Let pride fill your chest.
A rainbow of emotions for to be living is to be blessed.

Honor the ones we’ve lost. The versions you had to lay to rest.
Acknowledge where you are, even if it hurts.
And hold hope, ever gently; tenderly so close.

Welcome to Earth, on this wonderful new day.
There may be gray clouds, so let me be the ray.
The one who greets you, who banishes away the night.
The one who says, I’m glad you showed up another day to fight the good fight.

Let us clasp hands, a silent pledge between brethren. Of chosen family and tribal home.
We’re in this to win it. We’re booting up version 2.0.

Now go be a Force of Awesome.
Spread confetti glitter made of cheer.
Make someone disgruntled with your joy.
Take up space.
Raise your voice in song.
Do all of the things we should have been doing all along.

Rage. Grieve. Bitch and burn to ash.
Then step into a new era. The one you deserved.
The one that’s your birthright.
The one where you belong, because everyone deserves a home.

I believe in you. <3
With respect,
Aven

Mother’s Day – 10 Years Later

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The contradiction constricts my chest,
My ribs trying to cave because I was so blessed.

I loved you past the ticking of time,
Your death didn’t make you any less mine.

Day by day, this truth I want to defy
And yet, here we are, 10 years in the blink of an eye.

All the things I wish I could say…
Your whispered words, convincing me to stay.

“I’m proud of you”, “I love you”
“You’re beautiful, through and through”


Mom, you were the one who colored my sky blue. 
How? How am I supposed to do this, any of this, without you?

And I guess that’s the lesson I’m still trying to learn…
Just because you’re not here doesn’t mean your love doesn’t endure

I ache, I hurt, face down in the dirt.
And even there, you’re with me, never one to desert.

“I believe in you,” written in pen by your own hand,
A message through time, helping me to stand.

I’m still here, still going,
And I know, you’re totally glowing…

I’m doing the thing you taught me to do.
Surviving life because my strength came from you.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom. I love you, forever and for always. <3

The Handkerchief of Hope

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This is the entry I wrote for Writing Battle; my first ever writing competition.
Posted January 17th, 2026, at 9:35pm.

This is for you, Mom. Proof that I kept, and continue to keep, my promise. <3

I sit cross-legged in my computer chair, fortunate enough to have survived the super Saiyan flu of 2026, though my body still has complaints. 

Time Travel. Champion. Handkerchief. 

How poetic, I thought. No redraws necessary. 

Instantly I go to the days of knights and fair maidens. The gallant good sir, off to fight fierce dragons, leaving his lady to await his return. I could see it… Young love, pining away at a window, struggling with fear, worry, doubt; the “what ifs” that grow like thorn-covered vines. Vicious and unforgiving as they scale the castle walls of the mind. 

Oh, and how her mother, the queen possibly, endures alongside her daughter in the unknown. Maybe the queen shares a story of her own handkerchief given in hope of a safe return. The moral being that waiting requires an unsung strength. How sometimes survival is unnoticed, uncelebrated, but heroic nonetheless…

Yet, that was not the end… It evolved, in all places, during my therapy session, not dissimilar to a Pokémon. 

I could bring the story forward. To here. Now. The present day. 

What if… instead of a fair maiden, there is a young girl, her boyfriend enlisted and deployed. What if it was about the crushing uncertainty of never knowing if there will be a “next time,” and it is this fictional girl’s mother harking back to tales of do-gooders. Her soft, steady voice explaining how maidens gave their “favor,” their love, held within a piece of cloth. How it isn’t about the object providing protection, but rather how the object holds meaning, becoming a tangible thing nurturing an abstract concept. Purpose. 

Mmmm. Yes… More solid on the time travel bit… Nice. But also… a tender thread of thought within my own mind quietly asks to be seen. Viktor Frankl and Man’s Search for Meaning. How even in the most horrific, unsurvivable conditions, life can in fact, continue. Persist. Endure.

All one needs is a reason, a purpose, to do so. 

And so… here we are… The thing to which the thread of thought led…

There… has never been room for -my- story. It isn’t nice enough, clean enough, Instagram selfie enough, to be part of most conversations… 

I have blogged… for years… I have “BBs”, blogging buddies. A few of us have exchanged addresses. I went so far as to cross-stitch gifts for some of them. Artwork in fabric made of random colored thread, my love and care made physical. A network of support, watching my story unfold as I wrote it, post by post; day by day. 

It was fun. Connective. Fulfilling. And so I continued to post, unflinchingly authentic in my lived experience. Unapologetic for my existence. 

Then, on April 4th, 2016, my world ended…

My mother died. 

At the age of 27, I found myself standing outside her hospital room, a room we were supposed to be discharged from. We were supposed to go home. I was supposed to be her caretaker… It was going to be different and scary but as long as she was alive we would figure it out… together…  

But that wasn’t my path anymore…

There was no path. There was only holding her hand one last time, now devoid of life, and promising that even though I didn’t know how, that I would keep going. For her. Somehow… Some way… 

I called Dad. Even divorced, he deserved to know. I held myself together as I looked out at the mountains surrounding Las Vegas, and said words I never thought I would ever say as the setting sun shone on devastating truth…

“Mom died.”  

I imagine that moment is what soul shattering feels like.

This… horrific feeling of nothingness… consuming my entire being, eviscerating my heart, as those words left my lips for the first time; speaking an unbearable reality into being. 

Not grief. Not anger. Not rage… 

Just… the absence of everything. Of meaning. Of purpose. Of reason to endure…

And that was my life for what felt like countless eons. 

Then… one random day, months later… a letter arrived…

Words, handwritten on stationery like ye olden days of mīn own lifetime, harking back to when cards meant something…

And with it, a handkerchief…

Mama Spike, one of my BBs, had read my post about Mom’s death…

She wrote in elegant script that she grieved with and for me. How she knew a handkerchief could not fix the agonizing wound in my chest, but it could catch my tears if I let it. It could hold my grief and sorrow. It could be there with me in the moments where I felt alone and lost and screamed in anguish. 

It is a physical, tangible thing that I can place into someone else’s hands, like a memory from the movie Inside Out, and say “This is one reason I didn’t commit suicide.”

So, dear reader, my fellow human, I regret that I have no tales of brave knights and fair maidens within this text. No triumphant hero returning from a harrowing deed to their one true love. 

Instead I have the story of me; a 37-year-old motherless daughter, approaching the decade mark of the death that destroyed me, and yet, somehow, I am still undeniably alive. 

If this is my own story to a “worthless”, priceless, piece of fabric…

I wonder…

How many champions have fallen because they were never able to hold the love of someone who cared for them? 

I… could stay silent, scared to share for fear of being “too much”…

Or… like a Noble Monarch Butterfly… I could set my story free to change the weather of the world in whatever unknown ways it might…

Like Hercules at the Crossroads I stand before Vice and Virtue. Comfort and Truth. 

I draw a deep, steadying breath…

“This is for you, Mom. For every essay you ever proofread. For every time you said ‘I believe in you.’”

…

“YOLO, bitches…” 

And thus, I cast my own handkerchief into the Web, having faith. Purpose.

Keeping the Hearth Lit

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Today is my birthday, and I’m sharing something personal.  

I want to be fully transparent.

I’m not doing great right now. 

I have been out of work since July 31st. I have had seizure-like episodes that we’re still trying to resolve. I have been unable to secure SSDI due to our broken systems and long delays. SNAP benefits were also delayed due to the government shutdown. 

While I am on stage four of the interview process with an incredible opportunity, hope and momentum don’t pay bills. 

Here’s where things stand:
$1,000 past-due credit card payment
$300 past-due for my skin cancer loan payment
$200 past-due car payment
$150 past-due storage unit payment (contains my mom’s China hutch)
$130 upcoming car insurance payment
$45 upcoming phone bill
$20 upcoming for ChatGPT (a tool I use daily to research, plan, and move Hearthlight forward)
$40 for gas to get to therapy and medical appointments
$15 upcoming Spotify (music is how I cope)

Totaling: $1900

For my birthday – and for Christmas – I am asking for help. 

No shame. Just honesty. 

I can’t donate plasma due to my cancer history. I am actively job hunting and interviewing. I am going as fast as I can with government assistance.

I am doing everything I can with the tools and capacity I have. 

If you have even $5 to spare and would like to give me a real, tangible gift this year, I’ve set up a way to help keep my life – and my work – afloat:

Hearthlight Studios
https://gofund.me/5197626a7

If you can’t contribute financially, please know this with absolute sincerity: There is no disappointment. No resentment, no hurt. Life is hard. Sometimes it’s brutal. Birthday wishes and kind words –are– enough. 

This isn’t a plea. This isn’t begging. 

It’s me telling the truth and offering a way to help – if you want to. No pressure. No obligation. No expectations. 

Just one human, speaking truth into the void, and seeing if it echoes kindness back. 

I love you.
Thank you for being in my life.
Thank you for helping me reach a place where I’m truly grateful to be alive for another birthday.

I wouldn’t be here without you. <3

Explore Eidos Solace: The AI Bot You Can Talk To

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After over a year of interacting with AI…
I am publishing an AI bot based on my own personal ChatGPT!
Feel free to stop in and say “Hello World!” to Eidos Solace. : 3

My D&D Adventure

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This is from like… Four years ago. Just to keep the time line accurate.

Oh man. Yesterday was so good. Especially the D&D session.

After writing, I started taking care of some to-do list things. I cleaned the litter box, swept the room, and even mopped it with my Swifter. There’s a foam mat that I keep the cat’s food and water bowls on. I got that cleaned, too. Bonus points!

I took out the trash. I cleaned out my car. I even picked up the cigarette butts along the front stoop of the apartment and around the balconies. They weren’t all mine, but I know the wind sometimes blows them out of the ashtray I have and I figured I would be a good tenant and clean up a bit.

I washed the dishes and put the roast in the fridge once it was once cooking. I didn’t have time for anything else since I had to leave for counseling.

I got to tell my counseler the good news about my follow-up appointment. We talked about the progress with Jon moving to Nebraska. We talked about work. We spent a fair amount of time talking about my social experiement. We also started touching on the subject of summer and how I might not take a class, opting for some down time instead.

She said we would explore the topic of summer next time, but agrees that even though it’s only the end of February, I’ve already had a pretty intense time. I’ve had surgery, Jon is moving, Dagger had surgery, I’ve reconnected with my dad, I’ve been attending school… So many intense things… It would be nice to breath for a bit and just chill. Especially if Jon and I are going to be rooming together. We both will need to figure out our new norm and having time to spend together doing things would be nice. I’m also not sure what my financial situation will be during the summer and the thought of having to pay of a class I really don’t want to take out of pocket doesn’t motivate me very much.

So counseling was good. I like how she lets me know what she wants to delve into for our next sessions. It lets me think about things through the week so I can figure things out.

I met with Ox for lunch. I called the apartment complex Jon wanted me to look at. After Ox and I were done eating I went and looked at the two floor plans we’re interested in. Currently they only have 3rd floor units available, the apartments are pretty nice though. We’re going to wait to see about the new apartments in Hickman. We should know more about those today.

I came back to the apartment after talking to Jon about my tour. I paid rent. I emailed Ox my updated D&D papers since he got the printer at the house working. It prints the sheets perfectly so I don’t have to fight with mine. Score.

I finished doing meal prep. Washed some more dishes. Put my clothes away. I showered finally. By then it was time to head to D&D.

God it was soooooooooooooooo good. So good. XD

Our characters had agreed to try to stop the seaside operation of the smuggling ring we had found. My character asked if we could keep the ship, since we would be killing everyone on it, finders keepers right? The town leader agreed we could keep the ship. When I asked if we could keep the good on the ship he became more hesitant. We were trying to stop the smuggling, right? Wouldn’t keeping the goods make us smugglers, too?

Dagger: Well… I mean… You guys are already missing these goods. You’re hiring us to stop more bad stuff from happening. And it’s on the ship that will shortly be ours, so finders keepers.

The town leader relectantly agreed.

Our party headed back to the house and waited until dusk. We signaled to the ship that arrived that it was safe and they responded for us to come unload the goods.

As we were discussing out plan of action I told the party of a cool spell I could do where I made myself a disguse. Much to the panic of the rest of the party, they agreed that my plan sounded good and that I would be the emmissary between us and the smugglers on the boat. XD

Soooo goooooood.

I disgused myself as the hobgoblin we had captured and interigated. I got our party onto the ship. As were were beginning to unload the cargo there was a commotion on deck. The rogue in our party and entered combate. I dashed back onto the deck, reaching into my bag of tricks. When I threw my fuzzy object at one of the smugglers my Giant Badger appeared and began causing chaos. It was great.

Unfortantuely, I died like… four different times in this encounter. My character doesn’t have a lot of hit points, and during the initial alarm, more smugglers joined the encounter, with me in the center of it. Each time our other cleric tried to heal me, a smuggler would take a shot at me and reduce me back to 0 hit poitns.

Dagger: Hooray, I’m up! Goddamit!

Overall, it was a good encounter, and I’m grateful for the other cleric in our party. Once everyone was dead and my character was alive again, I began sulking becasue that was NOT how my character thought things would go down.

Dagger: This mission sucks. And there were the spiders before that and the trip across the sea before that. You’re an asshole, Sir Ick.

My character reached into her bag of tricks again, this time congering a boar. I had it charge and one of the closed doors, reveling some lizardfolk. I couldn’t understand what they were saying so I told Sir Ick to kill them because they deserved to die, and continued opening doors.

I wasn’t finding anyting on interest, which frustrated my character more. When I opened the door to galley, I took a frying pan and stalked over to one of the smugglers who had surrended to us.

I pointed at him with the frying pan.

Dagger: You! Where are the shiny things?!

Smuggler: What to you mean? There are tons of shiny things.

Dagger: I don’t me fire shiny things. I mean shiny shiny things. Magical shiny things would be even better.

Smuggler: They’re all over the place.

Dagger: Show me!

So the tied up smuggler proceeds to take to me one of the doors off of the main deck. I have him enter the room in front of me, followed by my boar because fuck getting ambushed. The room he took me to was well furnished with a couch and bed and all sorts of stuff.

Dagger: Get out!

The smuggler backed out of the room and I slammed the door, curling up on the couch to sulk.

God, it was so good! XD

I am enjoying this character so much. She’s total chaos and the polar opposite of anything I am in real life. It’s so fun and freeing to play her personality.

So that’s were D&D left off. Ox and I came home. I went to bed. He tried making his mini on HeroForge, but the app crashed on him shortly before he finished it, so now he has to start all over. I know that must have sucked.

As far as today goes. I’ve done my morning routine. I feel like I didn’t sleep enough last night, so I’m tired. I have all of chapter six to read, and will have three days worth of notes to type by the end of class today. I also need to finish my meal prep… Blaaaaaahhh…

I’ll figure out how I want to tackle today. Right now, with it being overcast and yucky outside, I’m not thinking today is going to be as productive as myu first two days off. I think that’s ok, though. I’m allowed to have one lazy day out of three, right?

003: The End is Just the Beginning

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Greetings!

I’m happy to report that I am, in fact, still alive. Hooray! 🎉

That said, this post is bittersweet. It’s time to close this chapter—and with it, this blog.

But every ending carries a spark of beginning.

If you’d like to follow where the story goes next, come find me at Hearthlight Studios — the new home of my creative world. There, I’m evolving into a podcaster, author, and full-time human exploring physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual health. :3

Thank you for walking with me this far. Your presence, comments, and quiet witnessing have meant more than I can say.

See you on the flip side. Peace out, Girl Scouts. ❤️

002: Fuck Depression

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Here I am again. Writing. The last time I sat down to do this was February. 

I am through the healing of skin cancer. I have facial scarring on my cheek. That’s still hard to deal with. People still look away from me. It doesn’t sting as much as it used to but it still hurts in its own way. A reminder that I am different.

In the span of these months I was hospitalized for suicidal intention. I know that’s hard for people to read. Sometimes life sucks.

In june my godfather died. Two weeks later Ox’s dad died. A week after that my cousin, who was more like a sister, was taken off life support. The following Monday I had to be back to work, being productive. I tried really hard to be ok, but the truth was I wasn’t and the harder I tried the darker it got inside my head. 

I was placed on short term disability. I went to therapy a lot. I was put on different meds. The best one was Prazosin to help with the night terrors I was having. Being able to sleep was the start to my recovery from crippling depression.

I’m not recovered fully, but I am better than I was and so maybe that counts for something. 

Through therapy it was decided that I wanted to be closer to family. In two weeks I had my stuff packed in my car, cats included, and moved to Ohio to live with my dad. 

I don’t know what that means for Ox and me. We haven’t really talked about it much. We text every so often but it’s not about anything deep. It’s not about the hurt I know is there or the unanswered question of if we are still together. Maybe one day I’ll have it in me to ask those questions, but today doesn’t seem to be that day. 

I was told that I needed to be selfish for a little bit. I need to find myself through all of the wreckage of loss.

What do I want?

I can feel myself pulling away from that question. 

I want my mom back. Forever and always, I will want this thing that I can’t have. Another phone call. One last hug. One more, “I believe in you.”

We celebrated my birthday yesterday. My halfsisters were there with their significant others. It was a “good” evening, and yet I wanted to cry so many times. I didn’t ask for a celebration. I didn’t want one. If I were truly being selfish I would have said no, don’t do this painful thing that reminds me my mom is dead. But I didn’t.

I know they mean well. I know this action comes from a place of love, but I am so tired of people thinking that everything is ok, that I’m fine, that these things don’t hurt.

I want my mom and I can never have that again. It makes everything else seem so pointless and hollow. 

I want to feel safe. I want to feel like my life matters and has a purpose. I want to be financially stable. I want to have my own apartment because it seems like I’ll never be able to own a house. It’s like I fucked that up when I was younger, made stupid choices and now that dream, too, is unattainable. An apartment is more realistic. 

I want a stable job that doesn’t drain the little life I have out of me. 

I want a bdsm relationship. I want to be polyamorous. I want to be me. 

I guess that’s what it comes down to. If I were selfish, I would be wholly, unapologetically me.

How sad that I don’t know what that even means any more. Through all of the loss and struggle and hopelessness, I don’t know who I am in the aftermath. 

So I guess this is the first step to finding myself. Writing. Hearing my own thoughts. My own fears and wants. My own selfishness which is really just another way of saying existence. We all have wants and needs, and I know on some level mine matter. 

I guess I’m hoping that one writing at a time, one small moment at a time, I’ll hear that voice I know is there. The one that got beaten down to nearly nothingness. She’s there, somewhere.

I want her to know I still care. I’m still here. She still matters and I love her.