My friend,

I call you this term knowing that if we were sitting across the coffee table from each other and you were pouring your heart out into my coffee cup, I would take a sip. I’d take a sip of all your worries and your darkest stories, but it would be the most intriguing coffee that has ever sat in the confinements of a white mug. I’d take a sip, and I would adore every warm ounce that soared down my throat and into my heart. I’d take a sip of your stories and love them.

You would be honest, though. You would share about aching loneliness you felt when you were 12 years old. The time when you only had a few sheets of a paper and a couple of pens and you decided it was time to journal the moments when no one was near.

Maybe you would tell me about how he broke your heart. He took all of his baseball hats and letters in a cardboard box with his name on the top. He took pieces of your heart with him, and you’re doing the best you can to construct your heart into something amazing with the remaining pieces.

Then there would be a story of how she was mean every single day to you with her words and her hands and the nice pens her mom bought her. She used everything in her proximity to tear you apart whether it was a hate book, a mean tweet or the push against the wall when she made fun of your jeans. You barely know how you got through the years that she kept attacking you.

I think you’d tell me about your family. You love your family. They did everything they could to love you, to be kind to you and to give you everything you needed. For some crazy reason, someone in your family hurt you, whether it was your uncle, grandma, brother or mother. They hurt you. My friend, I wish you knew you are allowed to be hurt by them.

Dreams would probably come into the conversation. My friend, you dream so wildly. You can barely imagine touching your dreams. You’re barely holding onto the hope.

You’re barely holding onto the fact that you’re normal, you’re full and you’re this wonderful creature with fingers and toes and this smile that shines through your white mug as you take a sip of coffee. You have stories that matter, but they break your heart. They break your heart and build walls with the bricks they created from the hate they kept yelling at you.

Here I am, at this coffee shop at a table for two but only with one seat filled. I’m imagining you sitting across from me, my friend. I’m creating your stories and wishing you were here for me to tell you this, because you’d probably trust me more. You’d probably believe these words I’m about to tell you if I knew all of your dirt and the curse words you hide in your diary, so I wish you were here to pour your heart out for me.

I wish more that you were here so I could declare these words into your coffee cup so that you would take a sip and allow these words to rest in your tummy.

You’re OK. You are so okay, my friend.

You woke up this morning with your heart heavy with the burdens of the day, and you are okay. You are okay because you’re going to roll over to the side of your bed, take a step down and you’re going to keep living despite every trembling disaster that could happen today.

You’re dressed; even if it is your winter pajamas you wore the night before. You are clothed and that’s enough to state that you can keep going. You can keep fighting this fight. You are still okay.

Your breath is filling up the air and the insides of your skin. You still have time on this big ball of pain and love. You are okay because you still have time to dance at concerts and to cry in the park by yourself. You’re okay because you’re still here with us today, and we are so happy to have you here.

My friend, I wish you understood how insane it is to be human. It’s such a wonderful thing to have problems, struggles and nightmares that have awoken you from your slumber. It’s breathtaking to cry and feel pain. It’s lovely that you were created with all these imperfections you point out in the mirror, but my friend, you are so incredibly beautiful.

I know you’re focused on the crap the world keeps telling you about yourself, so you’re not able to see how amazing you are. You’re not able to see how breathtaking and wonderful and magnificent you truly are, so today I hope you can just rest on the fact that you’re okay.

My friend, I want you to scream in the mirror that you are okay. Scream these three words until you believe it. I want you to believe this.

I want you to realize that you’re human and there is something so empowering with forgetting about perfectionism. I want you to notice that those people with the perfectly ironed shirts and constantly clean car are struggling too. They are struggling even if they make A’s on every test or if they seem to have a dream relationship on their Instragram.

We’re all struggling.

My friend, your struggles will forever be so beautiful to me. Your stories will consume my every corner of my heart. You are radiant because of your stories and your struggles.

You are so okay, and I need you to believe this.