See how they run.

We are phenomenal. We are beautiful songs and young love. We are hot water in the morning and sweaters in the fall and handwritten letters. We are beautiful views and poems that make people cry and sunshine and we are rain, too. We are the pies that actually taste good. We are youth and late nights and the first snow. We are what it is like to be a part of something and we are dancing and we are new shoes. We are good books and good hair days and good games.

We are everything beautiful and wonderful and everything happy.

But here I am, trying to protect myself from us. It isn't being happy that makes me want to protect myself: It's the knowledge that happiness can't last. It's that we will have to be noise and not music and that young love rarely lasts. We will have to be the moment that hot water runs out and everything is just icy, icy cold. We do have to be the letters that don't come and the view is sometimes just polluted. We have to be what it is to be alone and we have to be the months when there is just too much snow and no one wants it around anymore. We have to be the shoes that can't be worn anymore and the plugs that get pulled. We have to be poorly written and we have to be bad hair days and we have to be everything sad.

We do have to be everything ugly and awful and everything sad.

That's life, and sometimes I hate the thought of that. But we can't protect ourselves from happiness without protecting us from sadness, so I suppose we'd better cherish while we have it -- happiness, I mean.

And for now, we're too lovely to look away from, and I'm going to cling to that.

Happy Thanksgiving (Spanksgiving).

All my love,

Addy

Wild Thing dinnertime.

Have you ever wished for something so selfishly that every time it crosses your mind you find yourself stuck in a whole lot of guilt-mud?


But you keep wishing, don't you? You keep wishing because the second you stop wishing with every fiber of your soul, for even just a single moment, and allow yourself to consider what might happen if your wish doesn't make good, your breath gets all shallow and your legs get all shaky and all of your words loose their shape in your throat.


So you wish some more because you have to breathe like a real person and you want to be able to walk and have a real conversation, but you can't do either of those if your legs or your words aren't working.


And before you know it, you're using every wish you can - 11:11 wishes, dandelion wishes, shooting star wishes, left-over glitter wishes, birthday wishes, Christmas wishes. You've quit using them to wish for an orange kitten or to wish that someone will leave this this dress from Urban Outfitters on your porch in a cute little box with your name on it or even wish that that boy - that one with the adorable sixties haircut - will kiss you and it will be all perfect. You're using every wish you can on that selfish wish of yours, aren't you?


Well, maybe you aren't. But I am.


And I'll just keep wishing and wishing and wishing until the Wild Things eat me all up until all that's left is a big bowl of guilt and a dull, selfish ache.


And the clocks were striking thirteen.
All my love,
Addy


P.S. It's fine if you leave that dress on my porch in a cute little box with my name on it. In fact, my birthday is soon, so it's perfect, probably.

Happy Christmas, Harry!

It doesn't quite feel like Christmas around here. I mean, everyone's overjoyed and kind and spreading the spirit of the season, but it came so fast. Plus, the grass outside of my house is green as can be. But it doesn't really matter, because it's been such a beautiful day anyway! I got a ukulele (I've learned probably twenty songs since this morning, too) and a bunch of notebooks. Santa obviously knows I have an odd inkling to write constantly. I even got a journal for insomniacs - which is very fitting, on account of I am an insomniac who loves to journal. Huzzah. I sketched a picture of Ron in his maroon "R" sweater (back in the good old days when Mrs. Weasley sent all of her children sweaters for Christmas) shouting "Happy Christmas, Harry!" I signed it saying, "Happy Christmas from the Harry Potter nerd living amongst you." No one in my entire family has ever read Harry Potter except for me. Sad, isn't it? How was your Christmas? As smashing as mine? I hope it was. You certainly deserve it.

"Dwell in possibility."

All my love and Christmas wishes, Addy