Prose by Ada J. Raven
Dear Childhood Me,
I’m sorry I’m not who you hoped I’d be.
Your vivid dreams were so pure, so beautiful, so perfect,
and here I am, a mere shell, unable to fill even the silhouette of that woman.
She must have died with you.
Dear Teenage Me,
I’m sorry I failed you.
You coped with life with your visions of the future, and your hope that life would get better.
It kept going, for sure. In some ways it was better.
But true happiness would be difficult and sometimes evade you.
This would be my fault, and I regret it to this day.
Dear Future Me,
I’m sorry I don’t commit to you everyday.
If I’m capable of doing so, I don’t yet know it.
But I’m trying to become someone who can make life fulfilling for you.
I pray I can succeed.