Dear You (Or, Alternatively, Me) –
I worry about you sometimes.
I worry about how you are doing: who you are spending your time frolicking with, whether or not you have finally kissed someone, if you still get nervous easily. I worry about my friends in your time – are they still our friends? Or have you finally let them all go, or pushed them away, or left like we always dreamed of?
Sometimes I lay in bed in the late hours of the night, dreaming of your life. Do you remember? Do you remember staring at the dark ceiling so long it began turning red, tossing and turning, hoping and dreading what is to come? I wonder if the things I have done effect you as we have always worried they would; if they have broken you.
You see, the truth is – and I am certain you remember this about me – I fear you. I fear you like a lightning rod fears a thunderstorm. Do you remember why I fear you so? You do, don't you? Just as I shrink away from the possibility of becoming you, so you shrink away from the possibility of becoming even older, of living even longer. This has always been a part of us, hasn't it? Even when we were a child, the prospect of time, of any ending, brought on horrible, paralyzing terror.
We have always hated endings. We have always despised the cold hard fact that everything, everything, no matter how wonderful, or stupendous, or superlative, or perfect, everything ends, and we can do nothing to stop it. And so we try not to get involved. We spend so much time and effort trying not to be caught up in things and people, because it will all end one day. Every movie, every book, every relationship, every love, they will all end, they will all burn, and there is nothing we fear more than being left in the dust because everything we love is gone.
I fear you because, for all I know, you have nothing and no one, and you have succeeded in our everlasting fight to be left alone.
You know it, I know it. As much as we wish to be spared pain, we cannot resist the pull, because we are a human being. We cannot help but to enjoy others' company, to find ourself laughing at jokes, to fall in love. But this does not keep me from fearing you, from fearing every possibility, from fearing that my decisions were wrong, that you regret everything I've ever done or ever believed in.
I am afraid that all the life I have lived will be for nothing, and we will die having done naught to make any one person's life better.
As I sit here writing to you, I find myself wondering what you think of me. It's funny. When I look at ourself five, six years ago, I'm embarrassed. We were so stupidly optimistic, so naïve to the world around us. Is that how you see me? The idiotic Lost Girl who is constantly fighting a losing battle?
I suppose it doesn't matter. I suppose there is nothing I can do. You will be whoever it is you need to be, and I will try to stay who I am, but I will change. I will change as winter turns to spring. As inevitably as we will die one day, I will turn into you.
Now for some advice. I know, I know, I am the last person either us would ever listen to, but these things need to be said. First off, never get drunk. If you already have, shame on you. It's one thing we promised ourself we would never do, and I'm disappointed that you didn't listen to me. Next, please do not start smoking. I know it is something we have been dying to try, just out of sheer curiosity, but don't. Remember our great-grandpa? I thought so.
Just one last thing before I leave you to your life, never to bother you again. Promise me something. Just one thing:
Don't forget me.
Do not forget the things in my life now that make it worth living. Do not forget the stupid memes and music, angst and feels, fandoms and friendship. Don't forget that thing, the one only you know about, the one you shove away when it gets too close. Don't forget about the betrayal we felt – a bit too often, actually – or the anxiety attacks that plagued us. But most of all, do not forget the feelings you had, the feelings you might still have, even so far into the future. They shaped me, and they will surely shape you as well.
Good luck out there.
Me (Or, Alternatively, You)