A Letter to Little Baby
Twenty ‘til midnight, I have a headache and I want to be in bed. Do I sound like a complainer? I’m not. I’m a campaigner. [corny open-mouth wink]
30-Day Writing Challenge, Day 23
Ou, it’s June 23rd, I knew that because my grandmother’s birthday is tomorrow and a bit earlier this evening I was making plans for my little lady with 82 years of age. I’m down South visiting her for the occasion, as I’ve had the tendency to do my entire adult life.
Related: Took My Granny to the Gym with Me (TikTok video)
Whew, it’s 15 ‘til the hour now. Come on, writing prompt.
Writing Prompt: A letter to someone, anyone
Hey you,
I love you. I don’t want to hesitate, I don’t want to fluff it up, or fill the space with words leading up to it. I want to tell you now, and I want to tell you later.
You’re troubled. You’re tough. You’re hard. You’re mean. You’re the black sheep
…right now.
One day, you’ll be the golden child.
It feels good when Mrs. Mazzone, your 3rd grade teacher, pauses by your seat in class and gently scratches her long nails in short strokes across the top of your back, doesn’t it? You don’t feel affection often, do you? You’re not like other children. And as a result, you’re not treated like other children. Or, is it the other way around? You’re not treated like other children, and as a result, you’re not like other children.
The sweet preciousness of youth is in you, but your exterior has become hardened.
You don’t know how to handle your emotions. You’re only a little baby.
You’re nonchalant. You don’t care.. at least, that’s what your mouth says. “I don’t know and I don’t care,” you tell the social worker lady, or whatever it is that Mrs. Barbara Bous does. But you do care.
You crawl to the back row of the minivan, get darn near under the seat, and weep. I want to wipe your tears. I want to hug you. I want to hold you. I want to fix you. I’m working my way to you.
I’m going to get to you, and I’m going to save you. I’m reaching out, writing you this letter, in hopes you’ll let me in.
But then again, what can I do? I’m only a little baby.
