A Letter to My Future Self

Let me know what you think!

Canvas

A painting hangs on the wall—

it’s slightly off to the right, and it sits

crookedly against the nail desperately trying

to keep it steady. Colors splash the canvas:

yellow blue red white.

Each color painted on at different points in a

life that doesn’t seem to be long enough.

Blue is for all the times you ever

wished you were something you couldn’t be, for

tears silently bleeding through pillowcases because

you didn’t want anyone to know what was wrong—

because you weren’t even sure what was wrong.

It’s a color you paint slowly, almost indifferently, and while

you despise the feeling of guilt or pain, you understand

that in order for your canvas to be complete—

the bad parts are necessary.

Yellow is for the times you let the good

slip under your fingertips, when you stopped for a second

and remembered that life is pretty damn great. You smothered

the brightness next to the blue, seeing how drastic the colors

were against each other. This yellow

is for the times you laughed so hard your heart exploded, for

each song that ever put goosebumps on your skin, for

moving on—for knowing you deserve to be happy, too.

Now, red:  red is the color you lathered between your palms

because you couldn’t handle only finger-painting—

the first time someone ever said

“I love you”

you covered the canvas of blue and yellow with crimson

in the center, in the spotless corners, creating

colors you never even knew you could see. You enveloped

yourself into the arms of others. The red is a reminder

to love and love and love and love, and—

while it’s important for you to care for

the people around you, of course, please

don’t forget to tell yourself that you’re

just as worthy as the ones you love wholly.

White is for all the colors in between, all the

missed footsteps and careful wishing. It’s for the time

you couldn’t help but run head first into a thunderstorm

because you wanted to feel the rain breathe. White is splashed,

plastered, painted on for every moment you were left

breathless or for every second you can’t explain.

So, the canvas is crooked—but there are spots

where your paint has yet to be found, and

there’s still some color left to create.