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Dear Mercy,

Sep 2022 / By: Me

"Ribbons" Media From Wix


You’re a peerless dancer. When you dance, it’s as though I am witnessing a valkyrie enter battle. You’re scared, petrified of your foes —- stage fright, public humiliation, a grievous injury that may forever turn your talent into stone. Yet you go to war anyways, unflinching in the face of your enemies clanging their swords together in an attempt to unnerve you. Your combat prowess engraved in thousands of hours of practice, you step onto that stage unleashing the ninth circle of hell on those who attempt to dethrone you. Twirling your ribbon in the manner a valkyrie wields her axe, you move with the precision of a legendary warrior. You triumph, performance after performance, skirmish after skirmish, war after war. You triumph to the cheers of your comrades, to the fear and respect of your enemies.

Your generous spirit is worthy of the grandest exaltations. Your kindness is the omnipotent vaccine for life’s emotional maladies — from the parasite of grief to the virus of heartbreak. A vaccine more potent than anything ever concocted by scientists, just one dose of your compassion is sufficient to fortify me against all of life’s agonies. When tragedy befalls me, I recall your loving gestures: all the times you’ve extolled me, all the times you’ve held me, all the times you’ve bestowed me with physical tokens of your friendship. And your gestures, they embolden my mental immune system to conquer the trials ahead.

When I fall from grace, be it through getting fired, committing an unvirtuous act, or making a subpar financial decision, society never fails to chastise me. When I stumble, I thirst for understanding, for reassurance, for mercy, yet all I receive are the salty waters of judgment. The saline taste of “pull yourself up by the bootstraps” or “you brought this on yourself” or “You are a loser” — phrases which only augment my thirst for love. Yet you, you are my coconut tree. As I yearn for love at my most sinful moments, you hold me tight and remind me that to err, to exhibit moments of weakness is to be human. You do not merely quench my thirst for acceptance and forgiveness, you pardon my thirst with coconut water and leave a sweet aftertaste in my mouth. Indeed, your name is a reflection of who you are at your very core. Your clemency, your benevolence, your insuppressible spirit as a dancer —- such are what make you the quintessential best friend.

With a Thousand Sweet Nothings,


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