Child, as I am writing this, I am no more older than you in heart. My hands hesitate if they should continue expressing the thoughts I have on canvas for it has never been my dream to raise a young soul (I am one myself), and guilt rides my conscience if I continue to write for someone whose existence depends on my choices. But child, if you do (or ever will) exist, know that the world is how you will it to be. Life is exhilarating as it is frightening, as cruel as it is beautiful, and human nature builds and destroys the world we wish to know. It is never fair, nor is it kind, and if you were born healthy or crippled or deaf or blind, the hardships in the world would always begin from within.
Child, I want you to teach me how to be kind to you, how to not reject you but tell you of your faults, and I will listen to you when you tell me of mine. You will be free to feel weak when you are with me. I will endure with you and we shall laugh and cry together. I will never invalidate the qualms of a heart, especially if yours is as fragile as mine. Life is an experience too miserable and wonderful to share.
But child, if I were to have you, know that I will always be your ally.
