Dear Stranger,
If you are reading this, you have discovered this post-it tucked in the side of your train seat. I have noticed you sitting here on Monday mornings, sometimes tapping your thigh, sipping from your tea (who brings a tea cup on a train anyway?); sometimes you watch the rain dance down from the sky or reading a well-worn copy of Jane Eyre (I cringe when I see you fold the corners down- it’s abuse to any bibliophile. I smile at the thought the book would paper-cut you to defend itself……but I digress).
This past Monday, you seemed so sad. Please smile again, I love it when your eyes light up when they notice something silent and intimately your own; a secret perhaps from the world that makes everything more meaningful to you.
~ A Passenger

Dear Passenger,
I am not in the habit of receiving post-its from strangers. I did once find a love letter hidden in a newspaper that the author either forgot or was too afraid to send. Whether it was a blunder or fear, it made me sad to think of those beautiful, pleading words unread, except by me; someone they were never meant for. Do you think that person knows they are loved?
I am sorry you are so distraught over Miss Eyre and her scars.  I think of them as creases of my love, forever etched into her body, the marks of passion and devotion to her. I think that a love like mine for Miss Eyre, Bronte and Edward is exquisite because of its imperfections.
My Monday was sad because my hope died that morning. Thank you for caring enough to tell me that you noticed.
~Little Teacup

Dearest Little Teacup,
My concern is that you will break Miss Eyre’s tender spine. Her paper is fraying and I do not want her to die, especially because she is so beloved by you.  If you take care of her, she will be with you longer so she can give you company and comfort when you are heavyhearted. Especially those days when there is no one else around to share your thoughts, feelings and sorrows.
What tea are you drinking? I hope it is some kind of restorative that brings back your hope.
~Wondering

Dear Wondering,
I can not think of a better way to go than to be loved to death. Do not worry for I am gentle and my hands know her body well.  Miss Eyre is the kind of soul that was made to be loved and I am true.
Today I am drinking Orange Cookies. Last Monday I tasted Blooming Hedgemaze. Tomorrow I think it will be a Cranberry Autumn day. I don’t know if it will cure me, but if not, maybe a classic Earl Grey will.
~Longing

Dear Longing,
What are you yearning for? Would you share with me what has happened?
Are they any others that love you, like Miss Eyre?
~Curious

Dear Curious,
I am longing for understanding. I feel as if I am always set apart from others through malfunctions buried and saturated within. I sometimes think the genetic lottery was lost on me, but really I do not mind. Seems like others do and that makes me sad.
I love others, but Miss Eyre….she is special.
~Abnormal

Dear Abnormal,
I believe abnormalities make us beautiful and I have seen much beauty in you. I noticed you didn’t drink any tea this Monday. Does this mean the Cranberry Autumn is working?
~Optimistic

Dear Optimistic,
I had to go to the hospital and was not allowed any liquids. Maybe if it works I won’t need the Cranberry Autumn.  I am beginning to wonder if that it may not be the cure.  Maybe Mayan Chocolate or Pink Lemonade with its subtle, sweetness will be the key to unraveling my mystery. Or just unraveling my jeans. Did you notice I wore new jeans today? They were a present.
~Parched

Dear Parched,
I hope you weren’t scared and whatever you went to the hospital for, went well. Would you like to tell me about it? Only if you are comfortable, but I would like to listen if you allow.
I actually did notice the jeans and they look good on you. Did the giver visit you in the hospital? I would like to think someone was there with you. I also like to think they brought you flowers. I would bring you snapdragons if I could and you would let me.
~Ears Wide Open

Dear Dumbo,
Dumbo, because of the ears of course and you think abnormalities are beautiful. The procedure was easy enough, I sat there while they pushed chemicals through my body to fight off overly zealous cells. It doesn’t scare me but I am not sure that is the cure. Maybe it isn’t about curing my abnormalities but shaping them to be a part of me. Maybe others shouldn’t want to “cure” me but just love me and stop trying to piece me together into the sum of someone else’s wants.
The jeans were from my mother.  Yes she does visit but doesn’t understand. When I wear them I feel as if she is in my skin, walking my path and feeling what is inside of me. She did bring me flowers once but I crushed them in my hand because of anger and loss. I have learned to forgive now.
~Pressed Flower

Dear Fleur,
I hope you have been pressed into a book you love and slept soundly in the arms of it’s pages.  Perhaps in the embrace of Miss Eyre’s softly spoken words. Language is a blanket we all need. Especially in the darkest of hours and I feel you have known many of those. Maybe that is why your eyes are always searching when you are on the train.
I brought you a gift……tea. I will leave it for you when I go. I know it isn’t a cure, but I hope it gives you some comfort and softens some of the blows.
~Hoping for a K.O.

Dear Knock-Out,
The one who accused me of abuse of my dear ladylove’s precious pages now advocates the use of fists? It made me laugh and brought a smile to my heart.  Words are my weapons, you know mightier than the sword and all that?  I crawl into characters and their world when I need to escape the illness in my body. I didn’t know my eyes were searching, I guess all of me is restless. I find myself now looking for a permanent home. Thank you for the tea. If it is not the cure, it looks promising to help ease loneliness.
~Sword Swallower 

Dear Little Swallow,
I am renaming you, because I think you are a curious sort of bird held captive in a cage: one that you would know well, like Edward described , “were it free, would soar – cloud high”.
You do not need a sword, but a key instead.
Have you found a home to call your own yet?
~Seeking Locksmith, apply within

Dear Lock-hunter,
I think the key is somewhere deep inside of me. I think I have it, or maybe I am making it; melting, forming, heating, shaping and melting it down once more. I will take time but I am patient. Oh, the snapdragons were beautiful.
Thank you for believing I could be one of their kind~J&E Thornfield Hall. If I had a home, it would be with them. Somewhere in the green pastures and the creaking oaks. The home I am thinking of is somewhere between safe, deep and quiet.  A place where I can rest and snapdragons tread softly above. It is where we arrive after all of our exploring…where we began.
~Living In Dreams

Dear Dreamer,
When I read your letter, it made me afraid. Please say you do not mean it. Stay with me, Jane, Edward, and how about Charlotte, Mr Yeats, and T.S. Elliot and be blanketed by their words.  There are so many teas out there waiting to warm you, know your touch of lips, sipping kisses and your hands wrapped around their cups. Do not give up. I love you
~Love

Dear Love,
Will you come and sit with me next Monday?
~Sorrow Closes In

Dear Sorrowful,
It will not close in on you. In just a moment this note will be in your hand, along with my own. It will not let go. There will be more notes to follow and more palms pressed into palms. More teas as well to ease those dark moments.  You are not alone and never will be.