A letter from Ana at 28, circa 2023
to Ana at the tail end of 17, or so.

A limitless world

Ana,
Your world is limitless.
and yet-

Soon, the vast ocean that extends beyond the horizon you can fathom,
Lit by the bright bonfire’s light at your back, all ablaze,
and the beaming cells of your young body
and the friendships that you’ve made-

Ana,
All of that will fade.

You’ll forget every single word you’ve whispered.
Just as your footsteps on this shoreline will become untraceable,
Your memory of your memories will, like your favorite sweater, unravel in the wash.

You will leave the sandy beach and drop pieces of your youth onto cobblestones streets.
You, as you know you are, will die tragically, painfully, and spiritually, most specifically.

This knowledge
will feel
like a flame going out.

Like all of that loss is a void to fill with deep, dark, doubt.
Like the wind in your sails, has stopped suddenly.
Like the wings you’ve just made, are melting.

Ana,
These lost memories
and places
and forgotten faces-
These are forever pieces of you.
These are not losses.
This is fermented fuel.

Like a decade-old quote in black ink that’s now a faded, scribbled tattoo.
So too, the bonfire embers are from the ashes of the ashes of Dockweiler bonfires past.
And a small mouse dies at the foot of an oak, so that it can sleep with the leaves, and closer to the moon.
Every friend you’ve ever made will be replaced by a few.
And those friends will tragically, painfully, and spiritually, be replaced too.

And

the pieces of you that you’ve dropped will grow flowers.
and the vast ocean will be hidden by a Rocky Mountain range.
Or a continent.
Or our planet.
and even the beaming cells of your young body will age, so slowly you won’t notice the endless change towards your own inevitable and fated fading.

Your world is limitless,
and also,
an endless, resounding loop
made up of every word you’ve ever whispered and everything you’ll ever do.

Just as the earth turns intentionally away,
so also, there will always be a new you.