you are so precious. and i think it is truly tragic if, in all of your years here on this earth, you were never told. and perhaps you even began to believe for a moment that the absence of the words you needed most, meant that you had no worth. on the contrary. some have become so hardened that they did not let the sun shine from their lips. they held back those landscapes, flowing with trees and rivers and stars because they did not know how to speak morning from the nightfall within. and so they chose rather, to leave things left unsaid. when all the while you craved it so. and all the while you thought you did not matter. that these spaces we call days. and the distance we call time. and the breaths that kept you here, were insignificant. but sometimes you need to become your own curator of love. create it. nourish it. tend to its fire. keep it burning. always burning. and as you grow to understand how beautiful you are, you'll learn to say the unsaid things to those who need it most - the ones who never could.