Dear future me

Dear future  Lucy,

it’s funny, I imagine you to be many things. I imagine you to be thin and not have messy hair, to be able to take your drink and to not be persistently awkward nor miserable with other people. But I also imagine that even if you aren’t those things, the future is not entirely bleak. 

I’ve lived through a series of epiphanies in my life, but there is a most prevalent one. The same epiphany repeating, and it’s always ”In order to be happy, you do not need to physically be anything or physically have anything.” Just the thought I’m alive.

Only two words, but two words with so much weight.

With those two words spinning around my mind, everything around me glows with importance, and I see the world as infinitely fascinating and endless. 

This thought is always tainted and battered and bruised due to the blackness of my mind, but I imagine that it doesn’t matter how blackened you or your world is, because you appreciate what you have. You most likely hate my current self; Silly teenager who thinks she knows it all. Trust me, as much as you crave to be another person because of your silly personality flaws: You achieved some things, okay? And I am sure you're achieving more. 

I know that the darkness will always linger - You are not the most positive of people, it’s taxing and stupid, but you aren’t. But whatever you do, you are not finished yet. You still have that novel to write. That person to chase even though you’re a fat sod. That instrument you want to learn to play.  The cups of tea you want to drink. The canals to sit by. The bands you still have to see live. Those silly, sillly silly emotions to feel.

Keep going champ.

Congratulations on aging, but growing up is going to take some work.