To Myself in Five Years
Are you the you I wanted to be back when I was me, or do you do what you do because you have to?
I have plans for you, expectations too, a checklist of things to do and not to do. And although today I call them dreams, to you, they have you bursting at the seams. Do your eyes still light up, or have they glazed with apathy. I hope you can remember the you that you were when you were me, remember how bright and beautiful the world could be.
You’ve been through so much, in these five years, you’ve fell out of touch, lost friends and fell tears. But you’ve gained even more, I hope that I’m right, you’ve smiled and danced and laughed in delight.
How many lips have you kissed? How many hands have you held? How many evenings of bliss? How many songs you have yelled?
I wish you could reach back to me, would creep into my dreams, and tell me that everything will work out perfectly.
But you can’t. Because as far as I know time moves slow and steady one way as it flows. Past remembered, future unknown, present a combo of then and tomorrow. So you cannot give me comfort, but I can give you empathy, if you only just remember the you that you were back when you were me.
And I know you’re not done, just beginning, begun. You’ve watched the rain, you’ve slept in the sun. Each act is a beginning, each act is an end, opening and closing, again and again. I do not expect you to know who you are, or to know who I am, in the future how far. Just as each act in an end, the end never comes, and I will never expect you to become just one.
And I’m excited, though scared, and so completely unprepared. I wonder how it turns out I fared. I believe I can do it, you know if I did. I’ll work and I’ll fall, but I’ll get up again.
And I’ll do my best, do what I can do. I can’t wait to meet the me that I’ll be when I am you.
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