Dear stranger,
You don’t know me and I don’t know you (this seems obvious since I just referred to you as ‘stranger’), but does that really matter in times like these? Does it matter when I hope this letter will brighten your isolated hospital room? Does it matter when I only wish to send you some strength and love?
I hope you are open to receiving it. I know we have closed ourselves off a little bit lately. We have told ourselves that we need to be strong alone because we cannot be together and because we have seen such terrible things. When we needed to be united most of all, we have seen a dark part of human nature arise. And it hasn’t been pretty.
You may be right. We have to know how to be strong alone. But let’s not forget that our natural state is being surrounded by the people we love and that those dark individuals are the exception, not the rule. Let’s also remember that this will end. Somehow. Sometime.
In March we thought this would be for a few months and here we are, nearly a year later. So it looks like it won’t disappear magically into thin air and it will stay with us, even if we still don’t know how.
I say we will march on (pun intended). We will adapt and love and unity will prevail.
The people we have lost will always live in our hearts and memories. And although it may not seem like enough and the hole hurts like hell, one day the hole won’t hurt as much. We will be able to cherish the memories and see past the hurt.
To have lived is a privilege. To have loved is the biggest gift of all.
So, stranger. It isn’t much, but I offer you love. I offer you strength. I offer you company (from at least 2 metres away) and I offer you support. All of these things I offer in whichever shape or form you need.
Feel that? We are not strangers anymore.
Céline.