To myself five years ago:

In five years, you will notice that your poetry has gone flat
because it has been too long since you last let yourself taste sadness.

Please, don’t try to hold back the power of the ocean in your eyes.

Let yourself panic, let yourself drown, let yourself scream until you choke on your frustration
so that when you finally resurface, the sunlight will look like God and the tidal waves nothing but a lullaby.

I’m not saying it gets better
I’m saying that it doesn’t matter.

Because in five years, you will realize that pain was the universe’s way of reminding you that you still wanted to live.

Do not run away like I did or become the corpse that I am.
I cringed away from love so many times I lost my nerve endings.

No, don’t follow in my footsteps.
Or else in five years, you’ll hate yourself for your apathy
and wish you cared enough to do more than just write a letter to your old self about it.