"Dear Little One," But the Page is Empty

Dear little one,

I sit with pen in trembling hand,

A letter meant for you,

Yet the words—so full in my heart—

Refuse to land.

The page stares back,

A silent void,

Much like the world you have yet to know.

What can I offer you,

When even my thoughts stumble and grow?

Shall I write of hope,

Of stars that light a midnight sky,

Of dreams I’ve gathered just for you,

Woven into a lullaby?

Or should I warn you

Of clouds that shadow morning suns,

Of paths that twist and tangle tight,

Where journeys often come undone?

Dear little one,

The truth is this:

I am both lost and found.

In waiting for you,

I’ve learned the weight of joy profound.

So I leave the page

Unmarked, but not untrue.

For every word I could ever write

Is already written,

In love for you.