Dear Younger Me
When he locks you into his blue gaze and runs his fingertips along your neck; don’t fall for it. It’s all pretense. When he comes to your room night after night, bringing tokens of his love; don’t receive them. They’re deceptive.
Ten years later, I still remember how his gaze eventually turned to ice and made me shiver. And I’ll never forget how his love gifts ripped me wider than the sky’s expanse.
For his eyes were only empty cups. Even though I craved just one more glance, long after he’d gone. And his gifts were merely melancholic mixed tapes. But I still played them and thought: I might as well be on mars.
But, in case you don’t listen to me, just know the chasm between the pieces of your heart isn’t as wide as you think. And the pervasive, dreamless sleep that masquerades as peace won’t last forever.
And one more thing, you will forget his name. Because, in the end, your soul belongs to someone you haven’t even met yet. But you will.
Just hang on. Because you’re worth it.
Love, Me