If I could talk to any past version of me, it would be freshman year me. She would probably ask me what she should be doing differently, I’d tell her nothing. She’s doing everything that leads up to me, and I think I’m doing alright. Being a younger version of me, she would ask me if he likes me. I’d tell her no, he doesn’t. Then, she might ask me why we still like her. Unfortunately, the only answer I’d have for her would be to wait, a love like that only expires through time. I wouldn’t be able to tell her that anything that happens now is only the beginning. Being me, she would only obsess over changing the things that made me and her so different. I would tell her to keep feeling the way she does, to feel everything strongly. That feeling is the only way I hold on to her. That is the only reason I can feel her in her favorite songs, the reason why they bring me to her when revisited. I would never be able to explain to her the solace I feel while escaping into who she is, who I was. To me, her life seems so simple. Given how she feels, she would be terrified to know this. Her life is so idyllic and clear to me now, but only because I have retrospect. It’s all so new to her, so confusing and scary. I try to tell her in these songs I used to adore that change has transformed us, although change is still as terrifying to be now as it was then. She may ask me whether I would change anything. I don’t think I would answer her.
not really a poem but just some yappage I wrote ****. probably another thing ill read in the morning and decide to delete but yknow. wrote while listening to the playlist a friend made for me back in freshman year if that provides any context
