Dearest (hypothetical) future daughter (or son),

I see it clearly. You and your friends are surfing a more advanced version of the internet that I struggle to understand. You start reading about the 2020 Pandemic. It is part of a history project in grade 4. You joke about people stockpiling toilet paper and cheese (the former likely because of the latter…). You begin giggling amongst yourselves as you read about people Lysol-wiping groceries. You laugh, but we didn’t know then that that was overkill. I assume historians will capture the wildfires, royal abdication, U.S. …

You know that feeling where you want to speak,

But the words you hold feel too heavy to share.

The pieces of you that you could keep

to yourself or just let out

There are some things

you must go through alone

And others

where collaboration is key

What do you do when the line is blurry

When two heads or one feel equal

I tend to ask for what I need

And can go it on my own as well

What about those times when together is possible,

but I truly should be alone?

Or the times when the…