I look forward to singing with you.

On April 26th, I posted something about having just seven weeks.
Um.

You. You were the one I worried about the most. Because... I don't know why. Because you trust me so much. Because you're so young. Because I care much too much about what you think of me.

Because you were the one who sat next to me for those few glorious hours of some thing. You were the one who laughed with me through the whole ridiculous drama of it all. You were the one who waited beside me, who worried with me about whether that note had been sent, content to laugh at the recipient with me, not even knowing who she was.
I'd like to be your sister.
And today, I hesitated. You didn't get impatient, which is more than I'd be able to say for myself. You just sat there in that chair with your big smiling brown eyes and looked at me and said, "I have one question for you. I think you know what it is." And I said, "If you're asking what I think you're asking, my answer is I don't know yet."
And you laughed and hugged me and it was alright.
I'd kept you waiting since March for that truth. I was afraid you wouldn't be here anymore. I was afraid you would go away, and stay there.

If this summer, this week even, was a catharsis, this year is going to be the part where the writer finds inspiration.