letter to the unreasonable

Hello darling,

8
     Do you remember sitting on top of the world hating your name? The way it rolled off of your tongue sounded foreign, like a name that never belonged to you. You wanted to be called Leah or Brittney. Just like your friends. I should tell you that you never completely out grow that phase, but at least you never rushed to the court house to change it. You're probably right, it would've disappointed mother. That's the first time you forgot to do something to avoid guilt.
      And come November, don't forget to tell grandma that you like the red coat with the hood on in. It's so warm and you liked being called little red riding hood. Enjoy your blonde ringlets now, because come high school you're a brunette. Everyone lushes over how different it makes you look. You relish over how different it makes you feel. Enjoy the innocence, because it's taken from you all too soon and you never got it back.

13
      And this is the year you discover what your soul is made of. The finely woven notes of all the songs you fell in love with. You'll find your favorite place to scream a town over, inside a dimly lit stadium. This year you witness your first concert ever. You'll feel the rush of sneaking pass security to see your idols front row. It's intense and you learn how "love in an elevator" is best experienced with blaring amps, a roaring crowd and the faint smell of marijuana lacing the air. The memory still stays with you and soon, you take music in like oxygen. It's no longer a pastime. It's a necessity. Music stitches its way into your molecules. And you wouldn't change that for the world.

18
      I'd make this year disappear for you if I could. Maybe you should run off to the west coast. You talk about it all the time. Maybe you can out run the summer that changed you forever. God, you were so fucking naive. You'll miss that, I promise.
       Take in graduation day for everything it's worth. It will be the last happy memory you'll have for a while. No, that's probably a lie, because that day will become tainted just like the rest of them. They look the same after a while, all clouded in the gray of ignorance.
      Bury your head into your knees for a few weeks to get over the feeling. Do stupid rash things that will linger over the halo that was stolen from you. I couldn't tell you not to do anything to escape the pain of loss.
      But the advice that I will give you is to not wear black pumps in cemeteries, the heel pushes its way into the grass too far. And you secretly worry about crushing someone's remains. And hold hands while you still have the chance, because opportunities are taken away from you before you know it. And answer your cell phone once in a while; not everyone is calling you to give you bad news. It's still hard to shake that fear.
     And I'll let you in on a little secret. That boy in your statistics class, he likes the way you smile. And he'll almost make up for the year you had with his kisses. He's so very good at that.
      So I should tell you to have hope. Maybe it will get better, maybe it won't. But you should always hope.
                               Sincerely,
                                        Yourself