Dear Mom and Dad,

I hope this letter finds you well. There’s nothing more terrifying than the realization that the only letters I write are for a few dozen people to read; some of them I will never meet. I find myself daydreaming for the day I finally get to write letters for one person for the rest of my life, though I used to fear I may not live to see that day, or worse, I would pass them by like the wind.

I know you are concerned and I understand. You both have prayed hard that someone will take care of your only daughter in the same way you both take care of each other. Unfortunately, I don’t think I am meant to be in the hands of another. I have made a disappointing revelation that a life of companionship is not in store for me. It may have been a thought I got while in the shower or in class, but I realized that my hands are not molded to be in clasp with another. I realized that my eyes are not meant to look at the eyes of others, for they only know how to look at my shoelaces or the space between another person’s eyebrows. But perhaps the saddest of them all is the fact that every embrace I give and receive feels uneven; like our flesh hovers over each other and our bones only know to clash while our body heat accumulates in the wide gap I leave between our chests. I don’t think I can ever understand people. Why do we give roses on both Valentines and funerals? Now I just think of dead people when love is supposedly in the air.

I have to admit that I have been withholding these thoughts for so long so you won’t be too worried. In fact, you must see the walls that I have built around me. They are strong, tall, and only getting taller. I live rather comfortably, often talking to myself about the things we normally talk about. It is peaceful but it’s lonesome, is it not? I sometimes think how it would be nice to have someone around to tend the garden or talk to from time to time, but I found that loneliness is especially funny when you are sad. I woke up one day last October with an awful frown stamped across my face and I didn’t know what to do but confront myself in the mirror. I stuck my fingers in the corners of my lips and pushed further up my face creating a phony uncanny crescent, and I laughed about the ridiculousness of my solitude. It was then where I felt okay-I don’t think I’m much of a people-person.

I sincerely hope that you aren’t too bothered. I am often on my own but I am quickly realizing how this is what works best for me. You might never see me come home with a bouquet of daisies that don’t smell like sorrow. You might never meet miniature versions of me, and the only person on this Earth who will ever “have my eyes” or “have my smile” will be myself. Perhaps I just observe the experiences of others, to later turn my head and experience my own company.

Thank you for reading until the last paragraphs. I wouldn’t exactly say that I am happy, but I don’t think a companion of that nature would make me any happier. I think I’ll just focus on getting by, maybe I’ll learn to like myself more by then. Every morning I look at myself and I try to squeeze any ounce of confidence out of me. I’m happy to report that some days I get something, and other days I just have to try again tomorrow. I still get awfully nervous in crowds or in pleasant conversations, so sometimes I think I’ll die alone. But isn’t that what’s going to happen to all of us eventually? I’m not too worried about it.

Yours Sincerely,

Your only daughter

All the love I have in my body is for you two and myself.