dear future me,
did we ever do the things we said we would? did we move somewhere it rains? do we have nice roommates? what are our cats’ names?
it’s thursday. you skipped both intro to anthropology classes this week. you’re at work, not working. the hardest button to button just came on the radio.
you’re in a weird place with everything, but at least you’re not as sad as you’re used to being. the pills help.
you’re trying to sleep more. trying to drink more water. trying to talk more to more of your friends. trying to work harder. trying to draw more, draw better. you haven’t kept any of your new year’s resolutions, but that’s okay.
your romantic life is weird as hell. you have an ok cupid profile that says you’ll only respond to messages sent in heroic couplets. quite a few people have sent you rhymes, too, and you ignore them anyway. (to be fair, none of them have been in iambic pentameter, but isn’t this just a joke? isn’t this just a joke? isn’t this just a joke?)
you want to move out, but you don’t know how. you want to get another job, but you don’t know how. everything’s so scary. how did you do it? did you?
I hope you’re kinder than I am. I hope your hair is still short. I hope you’re better at applying eyeliner than I am. I hope you still talk to my favorite people. I hope you’re strong and doing the things you said you would. I hope you’re happy.
I hope we’re happy.
hey remember that time that you came here and on your last day I drove you all around southern california and we visited your dad’s grave and I cried and you thought I was just getting emotional because we were visiting your dad but hey, joke’s on you because ultimately I am a selfish creature and I was crying for myself because I’ve never visited my dad’s grave and put flowers on his headstone and talked to him or thought to him or yelled at him for not being here because my dad isn’t buried somewhere, my mom’s just got his ashes in a box in the attic
and then we went and saw the ocean and I texted pika and maru a picture of you captioned “the care and keeping of ur desrt” and then we went and got in n out and made you late and I came back for you and I made sure “everything is alright” was playing when you got in the car because we’d been singing along to that song a lot and I wanted you to know that everything was alright
dear past me,
write everything down. you’re going to forget so much. there are so few specific moments that I remember, and now all I have left are a smattering of Important things and those fucking random times where we were doing something completely unimportant, like riding in a car or sitting on a toilet, and we decided to think “LITTLE DID SHE KNOW, SHE WAS ABOUT TO DIE”
unfortunately, we were incorrect. or maybe fortunately. I’m still a little unsure about how much I want to be here, but there are still a lot of people you’ve yet to love. that’s the nature of life, you know. uncertainty. good and bad. everything is constantly falling apart, and people are all that matters. people are everything. and you’re going to find some good ones.
(don’t worry about god.)
write it down. write everything down. you’re going to regret not knowing for sure how you felt about a damn lot of things, because now I don’t know whether I’m repressing what I felt, or if I just didn’t feel at all. you’re going to regret deleting those chat logs. that’s history, and it didn’t go away just because you got rid of the evidence. you’re going to regret. (that’s also the nature of life.)
be kind. don’t spit on tolerance and “political correctness” just because the adults do.
the phrase “time heals all wounds” is misleading. there is no promise that things will get better. (see: the nature of life.) the only guarantee is that it will become normal, and it will be harder to care about the things that went wrong through the thick scar tissue.
write it down. you’ll be okay. write it down.
I’ve felt this coming on for a while now. I think it was always going to happen. but something’s still not quite right? this isn’t the sort of thing you do as a favor to somebody. it should be clearer, fiercer, more breathless.
it’s safe to come out now. I get it. go be happy.
you probably still think I hate you. in all honesty, I just don’t really care.
I think we’re the kind of friends that mostly just enjoys sitting in the corner of the other’s mind, listening quietly.
I don’t understand why I’m being so backwards about everything. I keep telling you and telling myself that this is temporary, that I’ll get my act together and we’ll figure it all out. but I think I’m just too complacent.
I love you. dearly, dearly, dearly.
I was never raised to believe in you. in my house, Jesus Was The Reason For The Season - a phrase we had to defend to our last breath because, you know, christianity is Under Attack. (maybe you might have been hinted at when I was younger, but any presents that had a to: from: sticker saying “santa” was clearly in my mother’s handwriting anyway)
but uh. you keep on.
I will write about the following, leave one in my ask box.
Dear person I hate,
Dear person I like,
Dear ex girlfriend,
Dear ex bestfriend,
Dear future me,
Dear past me,
Dear person I’m jealous of,
Dear person I had a crush on,
Dear [insert URL here],
A spider just dropped from the ceiling in front of my face while I was getting ready for bed. I said “No, Mr. Spider, I don’t want to play. I’m tired.” And then he retreated back up his silk thread and now I feel like I might have hurt his feelings.
someone is going to say “i have to go to the moon” in a bored, defeated tone one day
2051: first kid says “ugh” and rolls his eyes in space, slumps in chair facing away from the window in space