TO MY 16-YEAR-OLD SELF
I am writing to you to say that it will get better,
But things won’t be perfect.
You’ll sit and sob when you think back to the boy who hurt you,
a boy who seemed like a man,
But now seems like a child,
Wearing his father’s shoes,
His small feet swallowed by the bigness.
It will seem oddly comical,
And strangely heartbreaking
To remember the authority in which
He was able to hurt you so deeply.
You will eventually be with someone better,
Someone that loves you for you,
Not just how you serve them.
You won’t live at your parents home forever,
Someday you will live on your own,
It will be both freeing and lonely.