You are crazy.
You are batshit-bananas, over the moon crazy.
And I love you for it.
You laugh and cry like you’re going to die tomorrow.
You feel. Strongly;
you are loud and ferocious, but oh so fragile.
You don’t let the crazy get in the way;
you let it seep out here and there just to make sure it doesn’t overcome you,
just to keep things interesting,
to make sure you’re still grounded.
You move on.
You’re a hard person.
Life has made you independent,
for good reason.
You’ve learned how to survive;
how to fight wars and rebuild torn down walls.
Now, you leave the bridge down.
It’s taken a long time.
It was scary; treacherous,
but you did it.
You showed someone else, open for all to see;
a tulip in spring.
It’s been a long time. And I’m so proud of you.
This is just the beginning.
Most things won’t work in your favor.
But learn from tears. And heal from laughs.
It’s a big world. One step closer, one step older.
A 25 year old