#findmeinthefuture

“Dear Self,” it began

In what must have been

My very best penmanship

It went just one line

In periwinkle blue before

Changing to a modest black pen

“It’s 2022” scratch out “23...

It’s not easy to know what to say.

They say I should write

Just in case I forget

Sometimes things like that happen,

You know...”

I can’t remember how many times

I sat down just to pick up my pen

And drop it again.

I didn’t want to say the words

In my head: “If you read this

In 2033 or 38... if you happen

To make it that far...”

When I finally did,

The words flowed into red

On that college ruled page:

“It’s called aarhythmias...

I’m not quite sure why,

But they always say that word instead

Of ‘your heart won’t beat right

It’s just slowing down, but slowly,

And we’ve never seen this before.

We’re not sure, at this rate,

Just how long it will take,

For your body to realize...’

You’re dying, my Self,

Why am I not in tears...

It’s been so hard to know

For so long.

It’s August now,

And it’s blistering hot.

All I want is to swim in the sea.

I want to be out there

Building sand castles

And running from pier to pier...

But I’m inside working on

My eighty thousandth puzzle...

I hate those crooked cut-out lines...”

My eyes filled with tears,

Recalling that summer,

No one said it was the very last time.

But they all thought it inside

Just like me, cuz we knew:

My heart would end me up here.

So I’m writing to tell you,

It gets better sometimes

And the things you forget

You replace

With other things brighter

And newer and cleaner

To patch up the hole that just grows.

If I could sing this little song

With the last breath in my lungs

I would tell you I’m glad that you wrote.

I kept this letter in my pocket

All those years, and read it

Again and again...

You kept me alive,

Wanting oceans and sands

And the care that comes with