I raise this imaginary glass to you because yes, you are the shit. Regardless if anyone says it to you, or even if they don't. You know, and you have the right to stare at yourself in any mirror that offers you a reflection of the true you, so that you can deem it necessary if need be that "yes, I am the shiz-nit."
Yes girl, we've said it hundreds, if not thousands of times before: you know you did the best, was the best, and gave your best. And lets not forget, you forfeited us so that he could co-exist with you without feeling as though he'd lost any bit of his masculinity. But yet, our femininity, our woman-ness, didn't matter? Bits and pieces of you died so that he could live. Yet, after you weathered all storms, monsoons, tornados, hurricanes, tsunami's, and blizzards that came swerving into your personal space, you still had the strength to resuscitate yourself, so that you could keep it moving.
In spite of him, and in spite of what wars were waged against your heart's desire, your strength continues to amaze me. Your perseverance, and ability to let go and live, leaves me speechless. I can't be jealous of myself, but I damn sure can admire myself.
You know, there aren't many like you walking this Earth anymore. Endangered species if I may. You are preyed on by the wild and ravaged, but prayed for and protected by the best. And yet, you continuously revamp, update, change, alter, grow - become someone new, whether by choice or by force. And to do it so gracefully and without anger, scorn, or bitterness is one of your greatest assets.
So as you waltz bravely and beautifully into a new chapter, a new abyss, domain, a new corridor of your life, I lift this fictitious glass in rejoicement and sincere love to the person that you are today and the person you're becoming. Your load may be heavy and it may not go where and how you desire it to, just recall, you are the shit!