To the 10-year-old girl who sits at the front of the class and wears thick glasses. I will try to do one of those things where a person writes a letter to their younger self. So yes, I am from the future and I know what will happen. I must tell you first that your glasses would remain with you for a long long time and you might as well just embrace your poor eyesight. Your hair would grow out and you would finally be able to hold it in place with a ribbon. You would know sadness like the multiplication table and the lines of Rudy Francisco’s poetry just as well.
You would make your family happy as often as you make them sad. You would have amazing friends and you would walk with them on sunny afternoons and make jokes about other people’s shoes. You would meet people that would try to tell you how to be, they will tell you to smile more and to tuck your belly in and to wear brighter colors and you will not like them. You will rebel against everything you know, against religion, patriarchy, art, and societal beauty standards. The first time you try the mascara, you will have a pink eye for several days. You would rather sit on your bed and eat cold pasta than go out to parties.
On some mornings, you would lie on your bed and sob quietly because you do not think you can go any further but poetry would make you want to stay alive. And you would be grateful that your mother never noticed the heaving of your shoulders on mornings like these. You would get hurt and become friends with the ones that hurt you because forgiveness is your best trait. You would meet a boy that worships you and you would kiss and hold hands under dim lighting but you would leave him because you are riddled with fear of eventual insufficiency.
You would fall deeply in love with an unlikely person and it would drive you to the depths of insanity and you would leave again. This is what you do best, you walk away. You would conceal your insecurities beneath well-told jokes. You would compulsively over-share the many details of your life with people you meet. You would rather say inexplicable than unexplainable.
On rainy days, you would lay still on your bed and compare Frank Ocean’s voice to the sound of the rain outside your window. You would live for intelligent conversations and peach sunsets and you would have weekly conversations with the moon about what and what not.
I am from the future yet I am as unsure and as unsteady as you are. I do not know if you would ever really be happy but if I was asked what color your future is, I would say pink, the softest kind of pink.
Remember,
that you were born free
and at any moment you chose, you can spread your wings and fly far, far away...
to a place where the sun never sets and the birds sing songs of joy
of a peaceful resting shore where I will, always, be waiting for you to come home.
Remember,
that you are loved
and that it is all a temporary state, which will never last.
Despite how it might seem,
it is just a wound that you have to conceal
By dreams and not by grief.
Grieving your loss will not lead to any gain
time will pass and will, ultimately, make you learn,
that your loss was a superficial one, so does your wound.
Remember,
the stars and how they shine for you,
the ones you spoke to and understood every haze of your dark blues.
It is undeniable,
that you were, and still, an ocean full of secrets
which the salty rain only added more sweetness to it.
Your devotion loudly manifested during your silent prayers,
when your loud words
reached the seventh sky but you still wonder if they ever got heard.
Tragically,
your heart lost its beat one day,
when the time showed loyalty to its slow rhythm of rapidity.
It was the day you decided to declare your departure
toward welcoming places
where betrayal is one of its fundamental composure.
In the name of liberation, they flew away
forgetting you where they first found you,
next to a resting shore, longing for your lost self to be found again.
Now,
you breathe your last breath
through intoxicated lungs in total discomfort.
You lift your hands to keep your head up,
while its heaviness spreads down to your shoulders,
and you do not know if you can take it any longer.
The price of love has been paid by time so lovingly,
but, you still do not know
how could it forget about you, so easily?
Falling an easy prey
for its unfamiliar shade of gray
Too attractive, too irresistible.
However,
you chose to disobey and leave away
Somewhere with familiar traits.
Hoping,
that one day your senses would find the sense in you
and never question if it was ever true…
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