In which I write a letter to Sylvia Plath

Dear Sylvia,

Today you would have been 79. But you never even got to see your 31st birthday. 

I often wish I could go back in time and help you. To tell you that you were beautiful, that you didn't need to be depressed.

But maybe even that wouldn't have changed anything. Maybe even if I showed you the beauty in the world you still would have make your children a snack and then stuck your head in that oven.

I wish, so badly that I could have met you. I would have loved to talk with you about poetry, because you are one of the people who inspired me to write poems, which is something that I do quite often. In eighth grade, we had to do a Biography Project, and I almost did you. But I wasn't allowed to.

I don't do much to celebrate your birthday, other than think about your poems and life. Maybe I should do more, and maybe I will start a tradition-- though it would start next year because 3:30 pm is a bit too late to start any sort of major tradition.

I've read The Bell Jar about four or five times, which is a lot, given the number of books that I read. I dream about analyzing it and about analyzing your poetry.

Basically, Happy Birthday Sylvia, I miss you even though I never knew you.

Love,

Emily