you hold my worst memories and thoughts and actions, yet in that state of being you somehow remain my comfort.

i look into you when i’m okay and when i’m not, and i feel better.

i look into you and i become someone else. someone completely new.

you are not only my therapist, you’re my guidance counselor, my college professor, my fucking hero.

you remind me of my young self. you retain so much information and somehow all of it gets out one way or another, and that isn’t even your fault!

some outside force is pulling information from your brain to your lips, and it tastes so bad you spit it out. that is how i functioned, and how you function now.

back when you were a brown notepad with yellow pages, my best teenaged friend and babysitter wrote me a note. it was along the lines of

have a great day!

i love you!

and it made me smile endlessly.

back when i was going through my emo phase (for the first time) you were there to catch the tears and the god awful writing.

and for that, i thank you.