this is an open letter
If nothing else,
remember that when you were 20,
you loved lying down in the shower and having the hot water rain on you like an anchored boat in the ocean.
You loved driving at night (not necessarily with any destination in mind) and looking into all of the windows in the countryside that kept you out, that kept love in, that still kept you out.
You loved reading books in bed that took you to Spain, Montauk, Poland, or into conversations where you could listen like a fly on the wall.
You loved sleeping a lot, but not because you were lazy, but because you loved your dreams, as abstract as Dali, as sanguine as Renoir, as dramatic as Scorsese.
You always thought about the future.
You thought a lot about who you’d be friends with in 20 years, who you’d be sleeping next to in 20 years, where you’d spend christmas in 20 years, what you’d be doing in 20 years. You were so neurotic about these things when you knew deep down that you would be okay.
It isn’t going to slow down.
It isn’t going to get any easier.
You’re going to wonder what you did with all of your time.
Between 2010-2015. From 2006-2013. You’ll forget most of it.
But in the dashes between all of the years, in every ellipsis, after every comma, life happened, and it was good.