Dear Maddie, I know that sometimes it does not go how you want it to. Dude, I'm the same! I know what it feels like to be left out. It feels lonely. I hope we can get along day after day, after day.
Maybe we could hang out every Saturday and Sunday. Then on the rest of the days you could hang with Seth. I wish I had a boyfriend. WHY DON'T YOU READ MY BLOG POSTS!? Seriously why? Tell me now! I will do any thing. I'm not joking. Any way, meet me in my room every night. I want to talk with you. Ashleigh
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Today we have a guest post from Mountain Rants reader, Ginger, who has responded to Maddie's Letter Challenge. Originally written in the comments section, we have moved it to a guest post because it is a beautiful letter and should be enjoyed by all.
Thanks Ginger! The Mountain Rants Editors ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Your letter inspired me to write my own. Here goes...3 Dear Dreams, Hear me out. I know this may seem a bit long winded and it's stuff you already know, but it wasn't so long ago that I finally figured you out. Dreams, you are like the gilt edged ribbons on the presents we get. The gauzy ones with the edge of gold that make the bow stand up and dazzle—like it’s saying, “Look at what I might be.” In much the same way, Dreams, you are the harbinger of “what might be” in my life. I confess; I am a dreamer—never to be confused with a daydreamer. Daydreaming is the fluff on the periphery of my mind. You, Dreams, start in the center of my brain and lodge in my soul. On the one hand, daydreaming is like a sailboat without a rudder, a vessel aimlessly carried by the wind. You, Dreams, on the other hand, have been greatly responsible for plotting the course of my life. My crazy faith in you, Dreams, is not unfounded. You are the stuff, not fluff, of my reality. As a kid, I dreamed of horses. My earliest recollection is of me at four, the youngest of three children, with a widowed mother and a father I don't remember, riding a radiator in a second floor apartment. Dreams, you were my rudder or, more aptly, my reins, and at seventeen “city kid me” with my newbie driving license bought a horse and drove fifty miles at night to care for it. Thanks to you, Dreams, my passion became a reality. Two more horses to follow, and it has both literally and figuratively been a great ride. Now I'll fill you in on the stuff you'd have no way of knowing. Only recently I've realized not to become complacent about “dreams realized.” Passions realized are not endings but rather the impetus to invite you to coffee, a walk in the woods, or out in a boat on the ocean. When one dream becomes a reality, it's time to start dreaming again. I had a dream of catching a big fish and landed a thirty-five pound striped bass which led to a seventy pound marlin. And because you are such a task master, Dreams, I've started strength training so I can land a tuna. I totally understand; dreams without work are merely daydreams. Yup, you're like the gilt edged ribbon on the present. Sometimes what's under the lid is a disappointment, but, more often than not, it's more than I ever could've dreamed of. Thank you from the depths of my soul, Ginger |
MaddieI created this blog page to organize the letters for the 30-day challenge I'm participating in. I invite you to join me. ArchivesCategories |