To My Future Self,

i want you to always remember
in fact, hot iron the memory in your eyelids
the hot water and the hot tears and the red eyes
that gushed forth, seemingly neverending
and you prayed
what else could you have done?
but whisper, whisper so hard till every square inch of your body bled
and then you glanced at the mirror
into panicky, bloodshot brown eyes
and then you clenched them and told you: do you remember?
how afraid you were of becoming...you? how much you mortally terrified you?

how much the idea of aging
not in body, but purely soul
sent yourself into shaking fits of horror and sadness?
how quickly the idea of marriage tasted bitter
and how quickly you begged God, the Almighty God of my life,
to prevent the pain from staring you straight in the eyes
so that before you would know it,  you would have turned to stone?

remember to just get in line, though
because the number of those afraid of disillusionment, those afraid of
becoming the embodiment of "uninspired"
(at this age,  what else have we got but our inspiration?)
makes a long line that just runs circles around
the growing mound of our broken and useless hearts.

do you remember being so afraid of corruption that the tears melted your pencillations?
of becoming an enemy of the love and beauty that you swore to protect on the eve of your eighteenth?
you looked at that date, the seventh, like it would gobble you alive.
it seemed so close, so dauntingly, formidably close, so as an insurance policy, you made sure to address your future self. the seconds ticked away. tick tock tick tock.
do you remember?