this letter is a stream of consciousness about summer, growth, and naive dreams and wishes and conversations at nighttime that feel as soft as poems.
Published by Fluff Casual Cosmetics. Read the full letter here
To the infinite versions of me,
I have been thinking a lot about this notion of – you know – a year has passed and how much has happened, sort of thing. Thinking about last year and where I was and what was consuming me and what I prayed for and all I want to do is to go back in time and tell her everything that happened because holy crap, she would be shellshocked. I can even imagine it – her looking at me, the same height, unsure what to do with her hands and long limbs, all big eyes and tears and that perfume I used to wear and my old jeans, staring at me; at me, now, with the eyeliner that makes my eyes look bigger, and burgundy lipstick that I now apply boldly, and a new pair of jeans that feel comfier to wear, and a signature scent that will define the next phase of my life. I am trying immensely to see the fun in that. God knows that things did not work out how i wanted them to work out. Jesus Christ, they did not. but does that really mean it turned out badly? that is what she does not understand.
Being a teenager, seizing to be a teenager, grasping identity and change and life itself, is simply a continual, monotonous unraveling of a larger story that will be music to your ears in the future. There is at least a bit of pleasure in witnessing that.
I’ve been writing in the dead of night, and praying to a god that I see echoes of in candles and dusty sunsets and sun-dried linen – words turning to dust in my sore throat, nightingales outside, prayers like poetry that i have memorised. Forcing myself to sleep when the sky starts to turn lighter. The novel I am writing feels like a fantasy I would imagine as a child and I realise again that the younger version of myself, the one I tried to squash down and hide away, resurfaces when I least expect her to, and that is not something I can control, nor is it something that I should.
The thing about this letter is that I know i will look back on myself with a degree of embarrassment because I’ll have changed when i see it next. my word, I’ll be 20. I know nothing much will change but I also know myself so well that i could swear I’ll read this letter with an arched brow and small feeling of “Who did you think you were, silly girl?”. and maybe I am a silly girl. the years behind me stack up and crowd and fight for attention like a matryoshka doll. In one of the dolls I have cut my hair (I regretted that). In another I am stubborn and reckless and I do things without asking my parents (I regretted that too, and lay on their bed, crying). In the most recent one, I am reaching for something and waiting for it to reach back. my mind and soul and heart are ancient oceans.
Read the full letter here
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