Hello again, me.

It's easy to tell my past self to not give up.  That things will be okay, and -- once in a blue moon -- even get better.  That when my best friend walked away in that totally-normal, nothing-wrong, casual way it was not to become a stranger.  It's easy for me to tell me which fears were unwarranted, and which fears were warranted (most of them were.  You always knew yourself better than most anyone).  To tell myself that someday I would again be lifted gently from the stream.  Up out of the babbling brook.

But how can I say these things to my future me?  How can I say that things will work out, when they may not?  Would you laugh at me, if I told you to keep trying?  What if I had said it back then, that "everything will work out", wouldn't you simply scoff and tell me that I knew nothing?  What good is my voice in the face of uncertainty, in the face of futility?

In the face of eternity?

I'm starting to wonder whether the only things that I can share with you, my future self, are my own burdens.  Why is that?  Is it because my hopes and dreams are too fragile and precious?  That I hesitate to wear my heart on your sleeve the same way that my heart fails to let out the words from my soul.

How could I possibly say "you did nothing wrong", when that would imply that there is nothing wrong with me?  How could I say "forgive yourself", when that would imply that I deserve grace?

Perhaps the only thing, yet again, that I can dare to share with you is our commitment to what we believe in.  That no matter what the circumstances there are certain things, that, when we think about them, REALLY think about them, we become certain beyond a doubt of what is right.  Through all of the mistakes, the trials, the tribulations, the changes, the "damned if you do", the powerless moments, we can still remember that sometimes, love is not an option.  Which is to say, that love is not a path that we choose, it is simply a thing that we are.

The version of me that reads this may be a different version than the one I am today.  But there are things that we must share in common, aren't there?  Perhaps those are the things that we can bond over.

That even if my destiny walked away in a totally-normal, nothing-wrong, casual sort of way, it wouldn't stop me from tracing their footsteps across the country, to the gray skies of Cambridge where I lost my hairtie searching for a friend that we both still care about.  It's not about whether it's right or wrong.  It's not about which version of me that shows up.  It's not about the feelings in my heart.  We both know better than that.