If I could wrap love and care into little packages in the shape and space of a word, I would write a poem a day or maybe a haiku or two and send them to you. Prescription: In the exact doses that you require, so as to lift your spirits even by just a little.
If a piece of ribbon could carry a message, I could breathe love into a gift box so the ribbon that goes over, reaches you in time for Christmas. Just enough to help you get through the festive season. Prescription: Hang the gift of love on the tree, so all the children can come and see; feel safe, and just be.
If I could place one hundred spoonfuls of kindness in a care package along with some courage, you could have a little a day for at least one hundred days of thoughtfulness. Prescription: Use half a spoon mixed in a delicious brew. Try tender-scented lavender earl grey or a mug of invigorating jasmine tea. Add enough to keep the dreaded nightmares at bay.
If joy could be dished in generous servings on a cerulean blue ladle, I would boil a cauldron full of laughter. Ladles of joyful soup could be poured into ginormous melamine bowls. Prescription: To drink heartily in the company of the sad, the fatigued and the weak for theirs require unsparing quantities of laughter and joy.
If my presence could be a healing balm, and my aura could soothe to dispel clouds of gloom. Balm on gloom may help ease the burdens of your heart. Prescription: Engage in meaningful conversation at least once a day to ease the minutes of despair.
Yours truly.