My dearest light,
You are not yet of this world, but already, you inhabit the quiet between my heartbeats. I write to you now with the tenderness of hope and the weight of all I’ve learned , and unlearned , in this world that awaits you.

Some days, I feel like my soul stretches toward yours through time , a whisper across the veil. When you do arrive, may you know this:
You were never born to obey — you were born to be free.
Not the freedom they sell in songs and slogans, but the kind that makes your soul expand like a universe becoming. The kind that comes with solitude, with truth, with standing still even when the world screams “Run.”

And when the world becomes cruel , as it sometimes does , don’t forget that even pain has its poetry. That even sorrow has a strange dignity. Dostoevsky once said, “The darker the night, the brighter the stars.” I say: Either you will be the fire, or you will be the spark , and both light the dark.

You may fall from the tree of your ancestry, as I once did , not out of rejection, but evolution.
Do not live someone else's dream, not even mine.
You are not here to fulfill my unfinished songs.
You are here to dance your own.

There may be times when you question yourself , when love feels like a door closed too many times. In those moments, I hope you remember:
You are not meant to become lovable.
You are love ,the very shape of it, the scent of it, the sound of its silence.

And if you ever wonder whether you are enough, know this:
You are not a question to be answered ,
You are the answer life has been forming since the beginning of time.

You may be born in June, or December ,  but the sun will follow you regardless.
Not because the world is always kind, but because your presence will teach others how to be kinder. You may not change the world, but you may change someone’s world. That is just as sacred.

When the rain washes you raw, remember that even storms are soft from a distance.
Be gentle with yourself.
Be fierce with your joy.

And when you are older , when you are wiser than me ,
Maybe you’ll read this not as scripture, but as a mirror:
Reflecting back not what you must be,
But the quiet knowing of who you’ve always been.

I love you.
Before your first cry. Before your first breath.
I love you beyond the need to understand why.

With all my becoming,
Your future voice’s echo ,
Your parent.