Remember the time you caught me throwing your art in the bin?
You really dressed me down for that one. You made it clear that throwing out people’s stuff without asking was wrong. I was surprised. You don’t like conflict but you were ready to fight for that. You were four and a half years old.
My little old soul. Quiet as a mouse. Chilled as ice in the cooler. From so young you have been teaching me.
Reflective, perceptive, inquisitive. I often admire you from a distance. Smile lines trail down my cheeks to the uplifted corners of my mouth. You are responsible for them.
These lines. These paths of happiness. These roads to wisdom. They appeared, many of them, the day I became a man.
The day that I laid eyes on you.
Nikita, I know you. So let me tell you some things.
Discard your doubts. Failure is a symptom of the courage you have in spades.
Cultivate your eccentricity. That is your magic.
Refrain from comparing yourself to others who’s stories you cannot know.
Forget those who say you are too nice. They fear the light and invite you to their darkness.
Care not for what people think of your actions. A true heart, followed, can be trusted to keep the ones it needs.
And resist your feelings of shyness. Instead, close your eyes and enjoy the music.
The music you created. Can’t you hear my heart singing?
Some time ago Nikita, I realised that this world was not equipped for your nourishing. However, you will nourish the world. With your peaceful mind. With your loving heart. With your quest for truth and sense of justice.
When I am angry, you should know it’s because of time, taken away from you. When I am happy, it’s in those precious moments it isn’t. When I am scared, it’s for your future. Yet each and every time I am scared, I grow bold through your bravery.
A tiny little person, burning with a light that cannot be extinguished. One that burns the bad and sends them scurrying to their shadowy crevices. Destroy them with your crayons and texters. Your every composition flows through my heart in a river of colour, pooling and filling me with joy.
So Nikita, my heart’s treasure, do not fret for lost pictures on paper. They never were discarded!
Rather, they ended up making a new man. Any time you see me, Nikita, know that I am the man you painted. Be sure, that this man will carry you, day by day, allowing you to continue annihilating the grey.
And surely, I must be one of the greatest men alive. For I care not for humility in your presence. Perhaps, that is one more thing you can teach me.
Happy birthday darling.