Dear Me at Eleven--Can You Imagine Our Flower? Smack Dab in the Imagination by Dia Calhoun
Dear Me at Eleven,
If you can use the imagination I know you possess, this letter will give you comfort. If you can't, I advise immediately deleting it.
The good news is, you will get back to the garden and the tree and the backyard you are being torn away from.
The bad news is, this will take forty-five years. Although you will find other joy in your life, you will also suffer. I know you don't want to hear this. Who would?
The good news is this suffering will create brilliant flowers in our garden that would never have grown there otherwise.
Can you imagine those flowers? Will you draw me a picture of one? Before you are ripped from the garden, please bury your picture in a time capsule at the foot of the tree.
I promise to find it. I promise to sing about you. I promise we will sing our songs together.