Dear Friend,

I check my phone every five minutes
even though I know that there’s nothing there.

Force of habit.

But I’m doing better now.
I made vietnamese subs today
and I finally got a new
planking personal record

that I know

would make you proud.

And guess what?

I woke up

at five in the morning,
on a Saturday,
with my free will,
to go on a walk.

I get two days a week
when I can sleep in
and I spent one of those days
waking up earlier
than I have in years

and I got outside
and it was amazing.

It’s different now
and I hate it
and sometimes I wish
I could turn the clock back

but sometimes I feel like
I need to learn that 

life stops for nobody

learn it not just in my head

but in my heart
learn it so good that

I’ll never forget

learn it so good
that I’ll forgive it
that I’ll make peace with it
and embrace the change

and maybe go out at five 

in the morning every day

why the hell not?
maybe I’ll learn something
about myself that I never
would have if I didn’t change.

And in all this chaos,
in between all these
moving parts,
and all these
weird confusing moments
and all this pain
of becoming,

I can’t stop myself
from missing the past.

But someone I love very much
once told me that if you love someone
you should want them to
be happy, even if
you wind up being left out.

And I’ve been writing every day,
drawing something every day,
and my life is full of words
and shitty two-thousands movies
and brand-new spotify playlists
and cassette tapes
and cats
and chess

and I’ve still been laughing
and I’ve still been crying
and even in all this pain
of becoming 

I still feel human,

I still have my moments,

I just didn’t know
that someone could
break your heart
so gently, you know,
it caught me off guard, but

it’s not too bad,
over here on this side.

It’s just,
out of all these
current joys,
I’m missing

my favourite one.

I went to my own funeral yesterday.

Didn’t want to be disrespectful
so I sat in the middle
said my condolences to the parents
hugged the mother

and, when the time came,
looked at the face I spent
my teen years hating.

I went to my own
retirement party
yesterday 

hung out by the
snack bar
and spoke to
all the last few
who came for a
slice of cake.

I went to my own
graduation yesterday

sat in the  front
cheered when they
called my name
but cheered louder for my friends

because oh,
how I missed them.

I went to my first
day of kindergarten
yesterday,

and I ran and played
and asked stupid questions
and ran to the tire swing
before someone else got to it
because oh,

how I missed being able
to fit in one.

I went to my first birthday
yesterday.

Congratulated the mother,

held the baby,

looked into two round eyes

smashed between two chubby cheeks

and for a moment,

I remembered why

it ever mattered

in the first place.

There’s a girl on my bus
that I notice from across

the aisle every morning

and she is
the most beautiful person
I have seen
in my entire life.

And she carries a bag

on her lap
that looks like it’s
full of rocks

and she sits at the front
and smiles at every person
who walks on.

Every day,
I think about talking
to her.

Saying something like,
“thanks for smiling
at me as I walked on,”

or, “I think I’m in love with you,”

or maybe just,
“Hello.”

To which 

she would say,
“Hi.”

And I would ask
where she was headed
and she would say
school

and I would say, same.

and then she’d
compliment my jacket,
and I’d compliment
her shoes,

and she’d ask if
I had any hobbies,
and I’d say
people watching,

and she’d laugh,
and I’d laugh too.

But I never do
go up to her,
and I never
say, “thanks for smiling at me,”

or “I love you,”

or “hello.”

and I never tell
her that I like her shoes,
because I speak
with my head
instead of my mouth.

And one day,
she asks me,
in my head,
why I don’t say anything.

I tell her it’s
because I’m afraid.

And she says,

same.