Dear Younger Me,

The day, you fell off the swing for the very first time and felt chagrined, and couldn’t help but stare at the stale ground to avoid familiar eyes grin, taught me to stand up in dusty pants and walk down the street, unswayed, untouched to the rusty rants.

Dear Younger Me,

Your first sight with your first friend, those night you spent figuring out the trouble in your head, questioning the immortal if it was you who was erroneous, improper, or fallacious, helped me love and support my immediate soul in days of unrest.

Dear Younger Me,

The first time you couldn’t stand on expectations put forward by others, the first encounter with unfortune or unstudied failure, gifted me rationally and hope, forced me to stand on expectations, not of others, but of my own.

Dear Younger Me,

The first time you were deceived in love, the first break up or departure of a loved one, that left you shattered for days, held your head thinking and predicting, if the zephyr of happiness would ever walk your way, helped me realise that no one else expect me could be the harbinger of my own happiness, or herald of my own misfortune.

Dear Younger Me,

I know you’ve cried, sometimes walked on wrong paths, and made silly mistakes. But honey, the aftermath of your story, unfold of the fiction of my life, where you’ve personified your fears, into my splendiferous strengths, you’ve moulded your incomplete phrases, into poetry that my heart breathes. A version of yourself you are still learning to love—some days more than others—but it’s a dance. You are learning the rythm to, step by step. You are learning the mirror only tells a version of the truth and you are the one who gets decide the absolute truth.

;From Your Future Self

expose my own inner layers with writing.

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