To my 25 year old self

How many years has it been? Right, 7 long years. How are you? Don’t answer me with “I’m fine.” You know you hate it when you open your Messenger, ask someone that very same question and all you get is, “I’m fine.” Because the truth is that whenever you come to someone’s chatbox, you don’t want it to end with, “Oh. I’m fine too.” You’ve always hated everything trivial. You hate being asked about the weather and stuff like that. Trivial. You’ve always wanted to experience deep conversations. You want to close that chatbox having learned something about that person. But no one really understood the question, did they? Remember how your English teacher always taught you how to answer back to that question? She told you to tell them that you’re fine. We both know it was just part of the etiquette. We both know you’re supposed to say that even if deep inside you aren’t. We both know that deep inside even if you longed for such conversations, you’re secretly hoping that they answer what we were taught to answer so that you won’t be forced to carry their burden.

To the child at heart

I want to grow up but I can’t.

I feel like a child trapped within this seventeen year old self.

Living for the fairy tales I grew up knowing.

For the daydreams and shooting stars that would turn wishes into reality.

For the kisses that heal the boo-boos that try to hurt me.