A Love Letter.

Once u-pun a time (because no story by Elan has ever been started without a pun), a young woman wrote a letter.

The letter was written for a boy, and though nothing became of the letter, she became fond of the idea of being the recipient of such a personal note.

Remembering how it was handmade, crafted with care, written in sloppy cursive, and sealed with a good luck kiss and a spritz of her signature perfume, her hand itched to write another.

Misplaced in the mail, or received and thrown out, the letter was lost in transition, but was not lost in the girl’s heart.

Inspired by her work, and disappointed with the lack of suitors sending letters her way, she decided to write herself her own letter. ‘Twas to be no ordinary letter though, but a love letter.

The day was Valentine’s, and in the midst of marketed messages teasing her about her single status, she decided to treat herself to a day of love; for in her eyes, the best love she had ever had was that to which she gave herself.

And so she wrote.

Curled up in her newest pink 1960’s penoir set, hair done up from a trip to the salon, she poured herself a glass of rose, lit a candle, and set about writing her love letter.

my love,

what a beautiful day it is. you’re awake, you’re alive, and its your special day. ‘twat do we have planned? i hope that when you wake up, the birds sing to you as you get dressed and the sun shines through your window, because i know how much you adore waking up like Sleeping Beauty.

take a good look in the mirror and tell me what you see. sleepy eyes, long luscious locks cascading down your shoulders and over your chest, a shy smile forms itself across your face as you notice you noticing yourself. your legs touch and you feel the smoothness of them from a luscious bath the night before. the day is optimistic and you pull aside your closet doors and direct your eyes to the reds and pinks.

your phone buzzes, but you needn’t check who it is, because it’s not who you long it to be. he hasn’t texted. i hope you remember what we talked about? as rupi kaur puts it best: “do not bother holding on to that thing that does not want you. you cannot make it stay.” this is a day of love, not hopeless pining.

heart skipping a beat as you think of the day ahead, you get dressed, enjoying the luxury of slipping into clothes that make you feel so good. confident and sure of yourself, i anticipate you leave the house in search of coffee.

coffee is fuel for your soul, and because it’s Valentine’s Day, i know you’ll treat yourself to something extra special (dare i say white mocha?). a breakfast so special that it warrants a trip to the Moose Is Loose Bakery, where i see you standing by the cases in your striking outfit pointing to the biggest apple fritter you can see.

passing by couples, you try and accept and embrace their happiness instead of comparing yourself to their chapters. you try not to be jealous because you know you’ve also got a lover waiting for you at home, a lover who knows, appreciates, and pleases you more intimately than anyone you’ve ever known.

i know you spend the rest of the day treating yourself to simple pleasures: a bouquet of roses to put on your bedside table, a slow dance in your bedroom, arms wrapped around your waist as you soak in your own sexiness.

you end the day alone, but not lonely.

you settle in for the night reflecting on where you are in life and think of ways to encourage others to do the same. though you’re on the edge of insecurity, susceptible to painful memories of disappointing days in which you went through yet another February 14th without a Valentine, i know you’re strong.

you’ll take that unique perspective and use it to help change how the world perceives love, in its many variations and forms.

specifically, how you believe love is expressed in ways that aren’t just between romantic partners. how it’s also expressed through family, friends, and most importantly: oneself.

in a world learning to accept self-love as necessary and not selfish, you smile at how you cared for your special self on this day: body, mind, and spirit.

you’ve interpreted love to be a declaration of self-acceptance, and that is brave.

do i sense the desire to cry?

let those tears out. trust what your body is telling you, you’re only human.

you’re still insecure, but why?

i get it. you’re a woman who craves attention, validation, and intimacy with another but you’re forgetting that you hold all of those things within yourself. i know the world’s convinced you to look to another for completion, but you have to learn that you’ve got the power to please, the power to love, and the power to accept yourself as whole already.

it’s a process and it takes time. as you work through it, work through the days in which you fall back into old patterns and fall for the Prince Charmings who hand you poison apples instead of glass slippers, remember the one love who remained by your side through it all.

(sincerely,)

your love.

By Its Cover.

I remember distinctly the first time I ever really understood the phrase: Never judge a book by its cover.

It was years ago, and my family was boating out in Kachemak Bay before we ended up pulling into the small coastal town of Seldovia to stay the night.

We were walking down Main Street (seemingly the only street in Seldovia) and came upon this dilapidated looking hotel that was supposed to be our home for the night.

I remember taking one look at the broken behemoth thinking, that’s where we’re staying the night?

I whined to my parents as we made our way across the creaky boards to its entrance and refused to believe my mom that I would love the inside.

Yeah right.

If the thing doesn’t fall down on me first.

Sure enough, I opened the door and my breath was taken away.

The place was amazing. Decorated, cozy, and containing a memorable chess set that was propped up by the roaring fire, I could not believe that inside this disheveled seaside building was this welcoming and homey interior.

So unlike what the outside had me believe.

And that was the day I learned to never judge a book by its cover.

Unfortunately, a lot of people are in their adult lives and have yet to find the meaning as to what that saying insinuates.

Luckily, the judging of the hotel was an innocent way for me to learn about judging appearances, being an inanimate object and all. Where it doesn’t come so innocently though is when we judge people.

I get it.

Impressions are the first feelings, opinions, or ideas we have about people. Without having had a conversation, we’re able to judge people purely off the vibe we get from them. The vibe can come from what they’re wearing, how they carry themselves, and how they interact with others.

It often comes unconsciously, and without having realized it, we’ve made our assumptions about who the person is and how their story goes.

I can say with confidence that I’m a good example of a book being judged by her cover.

It has been my twenty-third year of living and the most common constant when it comes to assumptions about me has been one word, and one descriptive word only:

Intimidating.

The number of times that that word has been used to describe my looks, personality, intelligence, and ultimately, the cover of my book, is too many to count.

Trying to see how other people see me is confusing because they’re only looking at one piece of me, the visible part. Without even taking the time to get to know me and my pages of mystery, intrigue, romanticism, humor, and bouts of despondency, they’ve already passed judgement about me based purely on how I look to them.

I know, because I’ve been told time and time again that the combination of being attractive, intelligent, tall and confident about it all is intimidating to most people. Instead of getting to know me on the inside, people project their insecurities about how I make them feel and assume things about me that simply aren’t true.

With guys, they simply don’t approach me. They conclude that I’m taken, too good enough, cocky, or they simply don’t have the manhood to be with a woman who doesn’t rely on them for validation and security, and quite frankly, is taller than they are.

With girls, they get jealous. Daggers get thrown at me from vindictive eyes. These insecure girls would rather bring me down than get to know the real me.

I know I’ve talked about intimidation before and how it doesn’t reflect who I am but how the other person feels about me, but it nonetheless hurts my feelings to be called this word over and over again.

It’s like I’m not given a chance. And in reality, while I appear confident and sure of myself, there’s a part of me like most people that’s incredibly insecure. When I’m lumped into the category of being intimidating, it makes me feel secluded and alone, not at all how people assume I am.

There is so much more to people that meets the eye, and if we all looked past our own insecurities and assumptions, we might learn that people are far more than what they look like, and instead of judging off image, we might judge off character and personality.

I was lucky enough to learn at a a young age how falsely wrong I was to assume that the inside would look exactly like the outside of that ramshackle hotel. I learned that day not to judge books by their covers.

See, like most books, there are beginnings, middles, and endings that are separated by chapters.

People are the same way.

But you’ll never get to read their marvelous tales and exciting chapters, never be a part of the ongoing storyline if you get intimidated by their cover.