[dropcap]I[/dropcap]’m sorry your car is junk, that you have to air up your tires to take it anywhere. I’m sorry your mattress is flat, that your back hurts. I hate that you can’t fall asleep because of a dull pain that won’t quit. No one should have to feel pain.

I’m sorry someone hurt you. That some idiot lied and made you feel less than beautiful. It’s not right. And dammit, I hate that you feel like no one pays attention to you anymore. I’m certain there’s a perfect life you’ve imagined for yourself, and this isn’t it. Not by a long shot. I know you want to show the world – especially your enemies – how high you can fly.

But you’re not there, and you might never be.

I don’t know why we’re not allowed to have, feel, see, touch, or hold the things we want; let alone the things we need. There doesn’t seem to
be a reason why some suffer, and others sip fruity drinks. Why some have disease, and others have baby showers. I don’t know why a mother of four dies at twenty-five, or a healthy man shoots innocent people.

But I’m sorry the doctor gave you bad news. I’m sorry your dog passed. Christ, I’m sorry your daddy died. Whoever you are, if I could rid you of it, I would.

All I can say is: I believe something is at work, even though I don’t know what the hell it is. I just know that it doesn’t matter what kind of mess you’re in.

Because it’s going to be okay.