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We say that we put pieces of ourselves into our characters,

But I say that you took a piece of me when you were created

And I take a piece of you whenever I need your backbone.

A year ago, you gave me psychosomatic anxiety,

And I gave you a heart condition in response.

You gave me a new appreciation for navigating the difficult boundaries of society,

And I gave you my confusion, my journey as catharsis.

I send you off to the stars in the name of growth,

But in reality it’s because you’re my proxy.

As you’ve been a proxy to so many other things in your life,

I made you just to use you one last time.

I paint you in broad strokes, giving you a shaky sense of identity,

My rage, my pain, my frustration.

While I’m trapped at home, you’re free to wander the vastness of space —

To have the adventures I could never have,

To find the community I never had at your age,

To ask the questions and receive the answers I wanted —

But paired with closure that I don’t get the luxury of having.

I gave you a name, Isabel, Spanish for “pledged to God”.

You’re a sacrifice, the lamb brought as an offering to ease my sorrow.

Hurt and pulled through fire in order to inspire others.

In order to inspire me.

You trust me as Abraham was trusted by… I’m getting ahead of myself here.

You don’t need to know that part of yourself yet.

You fumble with labels, your position in society:

How you love so easily but too quickly, too explosively.

Fire rages beneath your skin, and when you hurt, you lash out and push others away,

And when you’re confused, you keep to yourself, waiting, wanting,

Yearning for a word language hasn’t invented yet.

But that’s where you’re wrong.

It’s not that the word hasn’t been invented yet.

But that you haven’t learned how to speak in tongues.

You know English, German, and Spanish.

You know the language of high school cliques, the dialogue of the inside of a car, and how exactly to tackle someone in their center of gravity so their brain ricochets around their skull.

But I know the language of you.

Because you are me and for every word you fail to grasp at,

Lost in the deep unknown of space,

I am here, watching over you, placing down the pieces.

One day, you will learn that language, this I know.

I will guide you on that journey like nobody guided me,

Hand in hand, you will know your true name,

And the language of your true self will come.

I paint you in specific strokes.

You are all of the things I could never be:

Bold, determined, outspoken, noble, compassionate.

Fingertips brushing against stars barely out of reach,

The astronaut unafraid of great heights.

You travel further and further away as I plant my feet firmly on the ground.

I paint you in broad strokes as time goes on,

And, one day, I will no longer need your strength

Nor will you need me to finish your story.

But for every word I speak, it will be in the language of us.

You have always had a part of me,

And I will always have a part of you.