i met up with my younger self for coffee today.

she turned up hungover.

i‘ve ordered tea & breakfast for her.

she doesn’t eat much lately.

i notice her nervously rubbing her bruised collarbone underneath the oversized hoodie, her lips & legs twitching, her wide eyes anxiously checking the room for possible threats.

„so… what’s up with you?“, she asks, not even looking at me, still scanning the room.

„we‘ve found love, Jules - we’ve found connection. a home. acceptance. answers.“

„oh yeah?“, she scoffs, „how the fuck did we manage to do that?“

i move closer to her. trying to give her a hug.

she pushes me away, but her eyes stop scanning and fill with tears. she slips her skinny fingers into the hoodie’s sleeves, shoulders pulled up, her chin dug deeply into the sweater.

„please don’t give up“, i beg, „there’s a future worth fighting for, i promise.“

she shakes her head, a cynical smile on her chopped lips.

she leaves to go back to her abusive addict husband who’s lost yet another job.

i’ll go back to the man who’s had my back when i was in the psych ward. i‘m six months sober.

her dad‘s in hospital - again. was it another stroke this time? maybe just another heart attack. these don’t make him forget her name and wear diapers at least.

i‘ve told him how much i‘ve loved him the last time i‘ve visited. he squeezed my hand. i dont visit dad‘s grave a lot, but i talk to him every day.

her mom‘s just eloped with her new boyfriend 3 months into their relationship.

i visit them. every once in a while.

she doesn’t really know her brother anymore.

i‘ll meet him later for dinner with his girlfriend and our baby niece.

she went back into her messy flat.

i went back home.

happy, because i know, in a few years, she‘ll be here, too.

taken from Pinterest