Dear Future Me,
It’s been years, years of anxiously awaiting your arrival. My feet have been cemented at the gates; I’ve grown impatient, yet somehow I muster the courage to battle time. Your departure is long overdue, flights of action delayed, but I continue to let the clock chime.
While I wait, I imagine what you must be like?
Are you kind?
Have you aged?
Have years of stress wrinkled the crevices of your skin?
My head creates an image;
You are soft.
You are humble.
You are patient.
You are generous.
You are perfect.
Almost too perfect, a fiction of a wild imagination. I try to envision a more realistic version;
I hope that are bold.
A fearless soul, ready to take on life’s greatest obstacles without hesitation. Without looking back.
I hope that you are passionate.
Passionate about your dreams. In love with your mind and the ideas and thoughts that have been nourished within a boundless entity.
I hope that you are courageous.
Strong enough to say no, even when it is most painful. Even when the world sends its most resilient army to fight against what you believe to be right.
I hope that you are loving,
That you may be able to pour your soul and all the love that your beating heart can muster into others, but more importantly into yourself.
I hope that you are wise.
Wise enough to seek guidance and aid when life beats you down, when it is hard to pick yourself up, beyond any strength that you can summon.
I look to my left. A woman who was waiting at the arrival station picks up her bag and leaves; accompany-less.
I stand, a little puzzled, she, like myself has been waiting at the arrival gates, for what seemed like an eternity.
Others face the arrival board. Blinded to the woman whose vanished. Their gaze fixed, no actions have been taken, people aimlessly wait for the arrival gates to open.
I guess she stopped waiting for her future self.