I want to see you fall asleep each night.
I want to see you the nights you feel like staying awake and splitting a cheap bottle of wine with me, theorizing life and love, questioning the pursuit of happiness, and whether or not happiness truly exists at all. I want to see you the nights you feel as though you have found yourself in a creative rut and you don’t want to talk about it. I want to see you the nights you are straining to keep your eyes focused clear ahead on your work, until the moment you eventually give in and fall fast asleep.
I want to see you wake up every morning.
I want to see you pull the covers back the mornings you can’t wait to jump out of bed to take on the world. I want to see you crawl back under the covers the mornings you don’t want to see the light of day. I want to see you the mornings you hide your head under your pillow and question if what you are doing in life makes sense. I want to see you the mornings you are scared of losing yourself, and even the mornings you are scared you might be losing me. I want to see you the mornings you wonder if you would rather be alone. I want to see you the mornings you stop to squeeze me tightly on your way out the door.
I want to see you follow your dreams.
I want to see you run after what you love without stopping to walk, without looking back for anyone, including me. I want to see you light up about your art in the same way that others do when they catch a glimpse of your art for the first time. I want to see your heart shine through each piece of work that you pour your sweat and tears into. I want to see these same tears fall from your face when the impact of your work is not loudly proclaimed. I want to see you find your own way to silently rejoice. I want to see you reach for my hand, when you feel you have nowhere else to reach.
I want to see you make a difference in this cruel and beautiful world, because I know that you can. And I know that you will.
I want to see you.
But most of all, I want you to see how much you have helped me see.