Dear past me,
I found a suggestion to write to our future self.
And, after much thought and deliberation, I found myself unable to thinks of us further than today.
Although, the past you and present me converge today, we both understand, that even now, our future is uncertain. And, it's all down to present me.

So, dear possible future,
there's a few things I know:

I know the sky is blue; sometimes.
The day before today was yesterday and after will be tomorrow. But yesterday is now certain. Written down on a rock. It is now a fixed point of life.
But tomorrow may not come. The sun not rise nor the moon fall.

Tomorrow is the great perhaps.
Sleeping; waiting to be awaken.
We are Schrodinger's cat. Both alive and dead inside the box of tomorrow.

That even if I can't see myself further than today;
here's to the things written and unwritten,
to the you before and the me after.
Here's to the great perhaps and maybe of tomorrow,
To the us who know,
and the uncertainty of now.
That to whatever yesterday decided,
tomorrow might forgive us.
Here's to the fine line between the past and future,
that it might meet our present and if not-
that it will remember us even if just today.

Here's to us,
anywhere in time.

About a year ago, I wrote this on my journal. It helped me cope with extreme sadness and hopelessness knowing I can express how I was feeling through writing.

"Today, I woke up feeling different. Different from how I use to feel for the past few weeks and months. I felt like it's not like those hopeless mornings. I woke up to my new alarm tone "Pleaser" by The Wallows. It's funny how my eyes can barely open but my body was rocking to the music. I've known the song for about the day before yesterday but yeah, you never know what's going to hit you. I want to hope for some things, better things, better than how I've been horribly feeling."

Those days taught me a lot, in all aspects of life. I am somehow grateful, but I am never going back. Stronger now.

2017 has had been a constant struggle internally;
I have had heartbreaks of many a kind
And clutches of vice of mind were gripping ever strong.
But I survived,
I don't if I am stronger now but-
All I know is that I braced
And I'm a slightly different man.
I hope 2018 brings me happiness;
Brings me contentment;
Brings me success & joy;
Bundled in surprises that I can rejoice.

I dream of death,
Yes, death.
She visits me in my solitude, in my silence,
She tells me it's not yet time to leave,
But time is of the essence,
And soon I will join her in complete solidarity.

I dream of misery,
Yes, misery.
He visits me in my times of trouble,
He tells me he won't stay long,
But misery loves company,
And soon I will join him in complete solidarity.

I dream of life,
Yes, life.
She often visits me,
She tells me to keep breathing,
she tells me she will come for me one day,

But how can life exist, how can life want someone like me who has already chosen death?

My dentist sees
A cavity.
ink on an otherwise clean tooth.
Tarnished and impure.
Something to be removed and I
Regret the sugar soda that put it there.
I touch my cheek, my lips and chin.  
But I don’t feel a thing.

I’m numb, all I feel is buzzing, no pain, only discomfort.
Drills of all sizes have their own vibrations.

Scratching against my clavicle, the artist’s hand is steady.  
My chest rises, falls,  with laughter and grimaces.

My father sees
A tattoo.
Ink on an otherwise clean clavicle.
Stained and immoral
Something to be removed, as if I will ever
Regret the rebellion that put it there.
Fingers dance across raised skin,
my body, a journal, my soul’s true home.

I am an artist,
I paint stories with red ink,
Can I show you a picture,
Can you tell me what you think?

I am an artist,
I paint stories with sharp edges,
I carve into unique places
Some pretty little etches

I am an artist,
I paint stories with death,
She frequently visits me
And takes away my breath

I am an artist,
I paint stories with my skin,
I use a sharp edge,
And a blood red ink

I am delicate,
With one touch I crumble
And fall to the ground.

I am a spineless,
Pusillanimous being
Who yearns for the end.

I am limited,
There isn't much I can do
Except plead with death,

To relieve me of
This earthly life that I hold.
Send me to darkness,

Send me to a place
Where I won't be able to
Feel any more pain.

All I crave is the
Sweet release of death upon
my pathetic soul.

Everything is temporary. Everything. From the birds and the bees to the people among them, to the flowers in the soil to the animals in their habitats, everything is temporary. Our lives are temporary, our feelings, our emotions, our possessions, our loves... It's all temporary.