Happy Birthday, Darling.

Because, honestly, what else could I have called it?

Emilea, this comes to you a day late. As you probably heard over the phone, I was hundreds of miles away from my computer. (But it didn't matter, because I was inches away from two of my favorite people.) I know I've been nearly dead to the blogging world, and I haven't posted in a while. But I thought your sixteenth birthday definitely merited an ascent, on my part, out of my little hermit hole.

I just want to say thanks for sticking it out sixteen years and for being my friend. Thanks for being sweet and adorable and empathetic and making us all want to be a little nicer to the people around us, too. Thanks for being so affected by beautiful things. The world would be so much better if everyone was touched by simple beauty the way you are.

Thanks for being a lovely, gentle writer and for sharing with us, even though sometimes it's hard to share. I hope you have sixteen more years of good writing. And then sixteen after that. And so on. I hope you do great things with this gift of yours.

I miss you dearly! I miss the way you read poetry and the way you take that elliptical machine for all its worth. I hope we can exercise together again soon.

We love you very much. Happy Birthday, Darling.