"I Think..."

Writing prompt: Write a letter to your younger self.

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DATE: October 16, 1994

I think about you every day,
And I can't help but smile;
I think of our deep friendship,
Though I've known you just a short while.

I think about your gentleness,
And how you've always cared about me;
I think about your sweet, kind heart--
You always know what's right to say to me.

I think about that look in your eyes,
And wonder what it might mean;
I think of that look's intensity,
And wonder if this is just a dream.

And through all this pensive wondering,
I've discovered something new--
And I could be wrong, but for now,
I think I'm falling in love with you.

I stared at the words I'd just written, and smirked a little. It was cheesy, I knew--I'd thrown those words on paper without a lot of thought. And besides the technical aspects of it, the very idea behind it was absurd. I'd only met Tony a little over a month ago--he was in my Biology lab, and he'd introduced himself to me on my first day and helped me find the teacher, since I had just added that class to my schedule. We'd very quickly become close friends. Through him, I met a lot of other people, and now, we had almost the same circle of friends. But "love"? Really? That was silly. Sure, he was a great friend, but there's no way I could be "in love" with him already. I'm only 17, I thought, shaking my head at my own foolishness. That's way too young to be seriously falling in love with someone.

I re-read my words, and almost crumpled up the sheet to throw it away. But something stopped me, and instead, I opened a drawer to find a notebook to put it into.

As I peeked in the drawer, I saw an unassuming white envelope sitting on top of my notebook. That wasn't there yesterday, I thought, ...was it? I filed the poem away in the notebook, and then pulled out the letter. It looked "fresh"--the envelope and paper were still crisp and white, and the ink was vibrant. I began to read.

Dear Sara,

OK, this is going to sound really weird, but bear with me. The person who wrote this letter is me. I mean, you. I mean, this is a future version of you. Don't ask me to explain, because there's no way I could. You're just going to have to have faith to accept that the Sara of the Future has found a way to communicate with the Sara of the Past. Well, "Present" to you. Whatever. Anyway, this is the Sara of 2008--your 31-year-old self.

I was given the task of writing a letter to my younger self, and I thought long and hard about who I would write to. Would I write to the broken-hearted 9-year-old girl who lost her grandmother to a battle with cancer? Would I write to the devastated 11-year-old who had just been told she was moving and leaving all her friends behind? Would I write to the shy 16-year-old whose world seemed to fall apart after her boyfriend turned his back on her? It could have been easy enough to write to you/myself at any sad moment of the past, and fill the letter with platitudes like, "You're going to get through this" and "Everything will be fine." But I honestly wasn't sure how much good that would do.

So I decided to write to you/myself at 17... and now you're probably wondering why. Well, see, it's about that poem you just wrote. Yes, I remember it. And I know it was about Tony. Maybe you're thinking, How in the world do you remember one poem you wrote over 14 years ago? And the only answer I can give you is... because you were right. You're struggling with these new feelings and trying to deny that you're in love, but you know what? You are in love. So don't fight it.

Of course, you still have a long way to go--after all, as you've often thought, you're only 17, which is far too young to get married. But you will marry him. Ad you're going to be happier than you ever dreamed possible.

Maybe you don't believe any of this, but if you've read this far, there must be some part of you that wonders if this is true. I'm not going to tell you anymore than this (and maybe I've already said too much), but I just wanted you to know that you're not crazy, and you should definitely keep that poem. You're going to love re-reading it over the years.

Love always,
Sara of 2008