A letter to my future self

[kaberett]

It's very odd, this liminal state - this awareness and this tension - though, again, I suppose it is the time of year for it.

But: along with the self-hatred, along with the distance, I am keenly aware, at the moment, that tiny me would... look up to me, would consider me something to aspire to, would consider me one of the cool kids.

Tiny me might be confused by some of the places I've ended up, and would definitely be confused by the routes I've taken to get here, and honestly is mostly in need of a large mug of hot chocolate and an even bigger hug -

- but. But they would be not proud, necessarily, but definitely relieved, I think, and probably somewhat awed - to know that this is how it turns out, so far.

And so, stretched thin in the doorway (or the hallway?) of my selves - looking over my shoulder is one thing, but maybe I can look forward a little way, too, down the paths I will take, and tonight I say: thank you, future me, larger me. Thank you for keeping me safe. Thank you for getting us to where you are. You've done right by us, and I am so, so proud. With all your mess and your scars and your mistakes: I love you, too. Good night. xx

Love after Love

The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other's welcome,

and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.

-- Derek Walcott