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Love, Smallest Soul: To a faraway friend

Foreword: This is a little side series of letters from the heart. Some sent, some abstract articulations of  previous conversations that re-wrote themselves in my head, some letters I needed to write and to read back to myself, some things I never said but wanted to.

Dear Friend

How are you? 
How is the sky there? 
How full is your cup, how wide is your perspective, how happy is your heart? 
What's getting you up in the morning? What's keeping you awake at night?
How are the stars there? Do you think we have the same stars here? Do they burn brightly in the midnight sky? Do you stay awake to find out?
How dark is it really before dawn?

Dear friend, How is your inner child?
How softly do they speak, have you learned to listen yet?

How is the creativity that flows through your fingers, how is the spark of genius in your smile, how are the memories that lived stacked behind your eyes?

How is your mother?
And what of your father?

How are your dreams holding up in the war that reality wages on them?
How are the wolves of optimism and cynicism? (Which are you feeding more?)

How are your hands? Have you been using them to hold and mold and heal or hurt?
Have you been using them to gesture wildly as you always do?
Do they curl into cupped hands to catch what comes
or fists to fight or a finger to point?

How are your fears? Are you making friends with them? Are you letting them go, are you giving them company?