Dear Cris

Dear Cris,

It's over, my love. Once again you have, somehow, manage to carry around your broken pieces into another year. By sheer stubbornness, you have managed to stick it to 2017 and continue living like the highly-functional hot mess that you are. So here we are, cheers to you:

For the many times you figured out how to keep breathing when you thought you couldn't anymore.
For every night when your tears were drowned by the stillness of exhausted sleep.
For the strength it took to get out of bed when it felt pointless and hopeless.
For the determination to scream back at the anxiety crawling from the back of your mind.
For the unanswered prayers that kept you praying unceasingly.
For the utter satisfaction of a broken body after a workout.
For tending to the gushing wounds of a broken heart with a broken heart.
For having to unlearn how to love someone despite yourself.
For looking at yourself in the mirror and smiling despite the scars.
For shouting at the crucifix knowing that you're being heard.
For crying and crying and crying and crying.
For tuning out the voices demanding you to be what you're not.
For choosing to live when all seems dead around you.
For laughing so hard to forget and never forgetting to laugh.
For having a beautifully broken soul that throbs with longing and love.
For being a bloody badass in general.
For flicking off the world when it flicks you off first.
For loving me intensely to make up for everyone who doesn't.
For being the most unapologetic, ridiculous, over-the-top of Cristinas that you can be.


Here's to you, Cris. Keep your eyes open to see beauty. Keep your hands open to receive grace. Keep your heart willing to hope that between all of the lashes there will be balm. Keep on keeping on.

With all my love,

Cris