Let me tell you something about you. Oh sure, I've never met you, but I know this just the same. You are beautiful. You are special. We need you in the world.
Infact, without you the magic won't quite work. Because we're all in this together, like layers of a rose, or threads in a weave, and you bring what only you can to it. You are a valued part of the work we do together, creating the great enchantment that is life here in this strange lovely bubble of earth, sea, weather.
You bring you, and it's wonderful.
I don't care whether you're homeless or a millionaire, fashionably pretty or all the supposedly wrong things. I love the angle of your finger bones, the corner of your eye when you smile, the silence you set around yourself when it all feels like too much. I don't need to have ever seen or heard these things to love them. To know they exist is enough. I've never seen the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel either, but the mere fact such wondrous art graces our world is heart-warming, inspiring, a joy. I feel the same about you. Your laugh tumbling out all unexpected, and your shoulder hunching protectively towards your heart when they sneer at you, and the stillness on your face when you watch the sun rise. Everything about you is art. The scars, the sorrows, the wishes, the flaws.
So if it ever gets too sad, or you're worn down by the day, remember there's a woman in New Zealand who is glad you exist, and who is sending you a hug, a wry smile, a cup of tea. It may be too hard to tell someone that you're sad or worn down; reaching out may feel impossible. So do this, if only for me: hold your own hand. Lift your face to the sky. Keep on going for one more moment, and then another, and then another. Things will get better. The world is full of beautiful things. Leaf veins, butterflies, silvery skies before rainfall, ancient paintings, and you.