You still haven’t met all the people...
...who are going to love you
It’s in freeping neon, my friend,
and if that’s not a literal sign,
I don’t know what is.
I don’t care how old you are,
how odd looking or sounding
you think you are:
Someone you don’t know yet
is gonna love schlubby old you
because—and I’m not wrong about
this—you are not as schlubby as
you think you are. How do I know?
When we met, I knew I would
soon adore you, and I didn’t care
that you mixed stripes with florals
or that you tripped over your feet,
or any of the things that you think
make you unlovable. Nope, there
was something endearing about
you from the get-go, and I’m not
the only one who has noticed.
Truly.
So chin up, buttercup. You still haven’t
met all the people who are going
to love you. And oh, what a good,
good thing that is to tuck in your
pocket and carry with you to
touch now and again as you
walk through this world,
the only one we have, the one
with so many people, some of
whom—I promise—are just
gonna love your sweet old
extraordinary self.
