A Letter To Myself, A Year From Now

Dear,

I talk to you a lot even though the silence between us should suffice. Sometimes your, or rather my brain doesn't stop talking, but it's fine. I try my best not to hold it against you, we all have problems.

With that being said, I feel like this is a conversation that ought to be had. I value nothing like self-awareness, and a great tool to work on that is living in retrospect. You're a big fan of that, aren't you; it's why you write after all. Your need to document for the sole sake of documenting borders on obsessive.

I digress, maybe I'm stalling; this subject looms over my thoughts like a crude neighbour. It's just that, a year from now you'll be graduating. It's never been a big deal to you, it just sits in unease in your stomach.

Nothing seems to strike you as a big deal anymore. I'd blame this on the meds you're taking but this has been the case for a good while. Maybe longer than I'd like to remember; I don't like recalling how my mind used to work despite being an advocate of self-growth.
And it's this very thing, self-growth that is, that only matters to you in the whole graduating ordeal.
And this is why I'm writing this letter.

By my own judgment, you've always been capital G good at self-reflection. You know how to review yourself. This fact extends beyond you, it's something that you find yourself doing to other people too. Change and growth fascinate you. People growing? Habit formation and the effect of the environment on one's behaviour? The complexity of humans in general? That stuff gets you going.
I hope it still does, a year from now.

I don't get why anyone would want to stay the same. (Well, I do, it's the fear of change of course, but what I rather don't get is the fear itself.) I don't get why anyone would wish that for anyone, or blame people for changing. To deny people to grow, what a cruel thing.

I'm not going to discuss people's social antics with you right now. This is about you.
One year from now, I hope you grow, become more you. Collect the stardust the people around you cast off.

I hope you forgive present me for all her faults. I hope the back pain is gone. I hope the serotonin is in its right place. I hope you'll finally read the books on the bedside table. I hope your film is going well. I hope you don't stop listening to Bon Iver, Daughter, and Sufjan Stevens. (I hope they release new music). I hope they still make you feel safe. I hope your definition of safe changes. I hope you don't mind I'm wishing all my hopes into existence. I hope you don't feel burdened by my hopes.
I hope you still hope for things, without feeling silly.
No matter how impending the future is, no matter how fraught with change it is, I hope you change.

I know you're still hesitant about what whirlwind to hurl yourself into after you graduate but wherever you end up at, I hope you're proud, I hope you're content, and I hope this finds you okay.

Hope is the thing with feathers,

Zahra