Forgive me, Leonard Peacock

Keep weeding, Dad.
Weed your mind.
And man the great light.
Even when no one is looking.

I want to believe that happiness might at least be possible later on in life for people prone to sadness

I know that you really just want everything to end—that you can’t see anything good in your future, that the world looks dark and terrible, and maybe you’re right—the world can definitely be a dreadful place.

I know you’re just barely holding it together.

But please hold on a little longer.

For us.

For yourself.

Your past—what you are currently experiencing—would be hard for anyone to endure. You’ve been so strong, making it this far. I admire your courage, and hope you can hold out a little longer.

You believe in the future now. It’s easy for you, because you love the present.

I want to give them each something to remember me by. To let them know I really cared about them and I’m sorry I couldn’t be more than I was—that I couldn’t stick around—and that what’s going to happen today isn’t their fault.

He keeps whispering, “You’re okay,” and I simultaneously love him and hate him for saying that. I’m fucking not okay at all. And yet it’s exactly what I most want to be: okay. He can’t give that to me, but I love him for trying.

And
I’m
fuckin
g
crying
again
because
I
just
can’t
help
it.

Why do you have to be like me? You should be like you.

You should expect people to be nice.