a quick hello and let’s begin.

Hello! I’m glad you’re here. I have a lot to share. I hope that you’ll find it worthwhile to read, share if you like, and let me know what you think.

Before I dive in, a little intro:

It took about 35 minutes and even fewer miles to go almost 20 years before now, back into my own vaguely familiar pages filled with tension and ripples from tears. In my old journals and sketchbooks, I’d written of love like I knew him and lost him — the first of many “hims”— through slippery fingers. But I didn’t, and I hadn’t. I can certainly see that now.

Nobody could tell me I hadn’t been in love or that I wouldn’t for decades longer. I wouldn’t have listened anyway. I know myself —my younger self— enough to say that I would have only written more, about being underestimated, misunderstood, and wise beyond my years or further than anyone could see. If I’m honest, not much has changed because that’s exactly how these stories will be.

These new pages —some handwritten, then later typed— are pouring with stories of my first love and the “likes” that preceded him. Again, I’m now convinced that I know what it is to really love. I promise I know how being loved feels, and again I’m compelled to express it through words as if it’s a fact. That’s my way, and as my mother would say, “you are who you’ve always been.” But now, I am certain, self-assured, and resolute in my wisdom, but equally in my foolishness. These pages are written with the conviction of a woman that could really only be validated in a death bed, after 100 years of living. I know this, but I’ll write them anyway, as if I’m 100 years old, remembering from my rocking chair, having all the knowing the world has to offer me.

You and future-me know it’s fool-hearted, and one of my dearest friends would argue that I haven’t even entered the adolescence of my life, but let’s pretend. Let’s suspend reality for the duration, so that I can share this story, and ultimately, so that I can heal. At the end of the day, that is what this is all about: healing from the grief that only comes from the love that was before it.

Yes, I should really make one thing clear before going further: I believe that there cannot be love without grief, and that grief can only come from a love that has changed. The goodbyes we grieve are what humanity is made of, and so are the loves before them. As a girl who has always loved love, and who never shied away from its grief, I know I always will. So, please humor me and all of my naive intensity that screams from these musings. It’s the only way I know.

Thank you 😘 Let’s begin!

With love,

Kendra Valerie, her future self, and the all-knowing little girl inside her ✨🖤✨