The letter that started it all

Dear Love,

I hope your hands find this letter in a rare moment where they are not aching from the conditions of this world. And if they are, I hope every alphabet on every inch of this paper soothes you.

Either way, I am your sign.

Since this endless grind, glorified as mighty hustle won’t even let you love yourself without being productive; I would like to remind you that you, my love, belong to something larger than any role you have been asked to play.

And how could I forget to thank you first, for undergoing this fatiguing life. This one hell of a project no one truly understands. And the greats who did aren’t simply there in your living room to explain it to you like you are five. Somehow concepts, facts and truths were much easier to grasp back then. Loving yourself was too.

I surely must love you a lot though, for I love you in all moments even as I wonder what will ever become of us. I am grateful for your vigour, resilience and perseverance people like to label stubbornness, kind heart the world has labelled sensitive. How I am grateful for it all! It’s true that my love for you has been conditional at times. And even if those conditions weren’t yours to begin with, I regret putting them onto your shoulders.

However, I long to tell you that from now on, it shall never arrive once you have perfected yourself or corrected yourself according to the million indescribable and unachievable standards. You were duped, manipulated, fooled to think it only belonged to you once you healed, succeeded and became a version of yourself that everybody loves. Or you love.

I am afraid and hopeful that you do not get to decide whether you deserve love. The truth simply is that you do. Always did. Even now, especially now (I know! feels like a conspiracy theory, doesn’t it). But you also live on a floating blue ball in the middle of god knows where, so go figure. Why not believe in this too.

Your existence on this planet is magnificent and unreal, no matter how much you convince yourself otherwise. You have not wasted a moment of it. For how can someone waste something that is inherently precious? Every moment that has happened to you has happened inside your life, which in itself is a miracle. So, if trying to understand or endure or simply live your existence on this plane is a waste, then I shall waste away every day.

Look Love, the distortions will always be here. They will tell you to hurry, to prove yourself, to become useful, to deserve rest – as if. Some of them will be repeated so often that they will eventually become your voice, and you won’t even know that you’re doing it to yourself.

You are allowed to question them. I beg you to question them.

You are allowed to put the weight down.

Change does not have to happen through suffering. I know you’ve been raised to believe it. I know you’ve been raised to believe in the power of sacrifice and suffering. But, my love, you don’t need to remain in pain forever to prove that your life is real.

So, keep on going, and understand once and for all that everything is made up – including these failures and including this shame. I truly do not know when this letter will find you, and I hope you don’t miss important mail because how I know you will refuse to open the mailbox. But I hope it finds you on a day when you need it most. And then I hope you tape it to your refrigerator with that wonky magnet we have, so you can read it over and over again every time you grab some ice cream – on hard days, on easy days or on a random Tuesday when you have nothing better to do.

I remember you in the future.

I see you sitting on that chair – that slightly tumbly grey metal chair. You still haven’t figured out probably whether it is the chair, the floor or you. But I know you will read it with immense love and grace in your heart, as you always do.

I hope you turn that love and grace towards yourself now. It’s time.

And remember me too, here in this moment. Give me some grace for going through this unforgiving moment.

I am so proud of you.

“When time, change and water beg to flow through you, let them”

Later, My Love

About 

Later, My Love came from a day I needed tenderness so badly that I wanted to send it ahead of me.

I was sitting at work — exhausted and quietly unraveling. I knew there would be another day like this (because life!) and when that day came, I wanted love to already be on its way.

I looked everywhere for someone who could help my future self receive the letter I wrote that day and found a shop in Paris of all places (Of course). I longed to teleport there immediately, but unfortunately, if I had enough money for a plane ticket to Paris, I probably would have felt a little less hopeless that day. Joking. Not joking.

There is something about a letter in your hands; a proof you can read back to yourself, a perspective in time.

I had signed that first letter: Later, my love.

And that is how this began.

This exists for the day you need some tender, loving care or maybe for just another Friday. Either way, it gives me a reason to casually recite poetry, pretend we live in 1995 with loads of stamps and letters worth waiting for. 

Privacy & Care:

AI is never used to write any letters. This is a human page from one feeling human to another. Every written-for-you letter is created by me (a real person, hello!) with care and respect for your story.

Your words stay completely confidential. They will never be shared or used without your permission. I retain the right to refuse service if inappropriate (i.e. threatening, illegal, hateful or explicit) content in nature is being shared.

Sincerely,

Love (Yes, my actual name is Love, yes it is ironic).