Write her feelings. Write her fears. Write when she cannot understand why people act the way they do. Write when she cannot make sense of herself.
I will teach her to write when she is filled, and write when she is empty. Write when life has fallen into place and write to find answers.
I will teach her to write because that is her love language, and I will watch as her words fill pages and hearts alike. Her words will be bright and pure like the sun, cool and soothing like water nurturing cracked soil. With her words, she will build herself into a healthy, strong flower who opens its petals to the sun. Then she will grow a garden all around her, blessing the world even more.
I will teach my future daughter to write. To not be filled by earthly vices but to find solace in seeing what others cannot see—the strength in feeling emotion, the grace in the small things, the beauty in using words to connect broken souls.
I will bless her with my words. Love her with my words. Show her how words can heal in ways that a simple touch will never. I will show her how words teach us to love, how words pry open the hidden parts of our minds and help us truly see one another, how words make us vulnerable and open and beautiful and strong.
I will show her how words can be lessons, how words can be fearless, how words can give us clarity in moments of darkness. I will teach her that words will bring her closer with others, connecting both minds and hearts for something far greater than a relationship, but compatibility in its purest form and love at its deepest level. A mind connection, soul connection.
I will teach her to write because that will be the world she knows, a world of words and emotions and thoughts dancing across her beautiful mind. I will teach her to write because it will build her. And because it will save her.