I want to write myself a love letter.
Tell myself of the people I grew to be,
of the people who grew out of me.
I want to tell myself
the brittle parts of me that no one
has yet found the heart to fix.
Tell myself
the strong parts of me that no one
can find in my heart, to take along.

I want to tell myself,
you grew thinner, okay, almost.
You tried.
You got a lover, okay, almost.
You tried.
You got a home, okay, almost.
You tried.
You didn't give up, not yet.
You tried.
Loud music still annoys you.
The leftover sunshine trickling through
your window at noon
still settles on your nose in a pretty angle.
You still love clicking pictures of yourself,
you are still trying to read all the books you buy.
The haircut you got yourself looks cute,
you aren't a heart gone stale under the sun;
if anything, you have aged with your pain
like a fossil...