a note to self.

You are a mean girl. 

You pick yourself apart and bully the salt into self-imposed wounds. And when your brain bleeds your skin red, you scrutinize how the folds of your elbows, knees wrinkle in the blood.

You dislike how the ends of your hair fade into splits and how the scars on your cheeks are rusted into your skin. 

You are constantly, dreadfully afraid of time. How it's rushing past you. How you just can’t seem to keep up. You are so worried about losing it that you write every word, grasp at every thought hoping, pleading to remember every piece. 

You hate that you love to nitpick at your nails and the scrapes on your chin. 

You are too self-aware and you pay too much attention to your self-conceived perception of yourself. 

You want to be pretentious. You want to be charming. You want to be smart. You want to know words that are at least three syllables long and twist at the ends. You want to read like how you did when you were younger. You want to learn so much. But you are stubborn in your talents. You stay confident in your comfort zone. You are hesitant at starting anew. 

But you are trying. 

And I love that you love drawing stars on your wrists and smiley faces on your hands. 

That you love when the light hits the side of a building, preferably when it’s a skyscraper. 

That you love the small moments. The quiet moments. Maybe because you are quiet or maybe in the quiet there is peace. 

That you love foggy mornings. The smell of rain the next day. How everyone unanimously stares at the sunset. At the sunrise. 

That you are a listener. An open ear and ready shoulder prepared to hold their weights. 

That you love being alone in your own company and you love being surrounded by people you love. 

That you love compliments and you love giving compliments. In fact, you brim with excitement when writing them in your head and you love the way these fluttering words make them feel special.  

That you don’t believe in a god but you believe in the universe. So you try your best not to stomp down on others and you bite your tongue down because you know better.  

That you love dreaming of the future even though ninety-nine percent of the time you are terrified.

That you appreciate the beauty in simplicity. Fading seasons. Long mornings. Errands on Sundays. Bike rides with hands-free. Open windows. Sunlight streams on the sides of tables. Reminiscing. Pinched cheeks. Bare feet on the pavement. Warmth of the sun. The line in the horizon where the sky kisses the earth. 

That you love tea in the mornings. Tea in the evenings. Tea at the peak of the night. 

That you love how your eyes turn into crescent moons when you smile. How it's one of your favorite parts of you.   

That you love when street lamps switch on one by one in brisk evenings. It’s yellow light in blue air. The empty streets. 

That you peel yourself up from regret and with a strength I have long forgotten, you keep dredging onwards. You are someone better than who I ever was.