A letter from February 17th, 2020

Dear FutureMe, I am writing to you from the computer chair sitting on the glass table next to your vinyl record player in February 2020. Miley (our dog) is on her deathbed after that decade and a half. Katelyn has just begun to date, and I utterly despise it. It is the one-year anniversary of my working at the car wash. Dad has wrongfully entrusted me with the keys to the Corvette. I have just been prompted to write a poem and I can sadly say that it is the first poem I have written since finishing the book last May. In May, I wrote those last few words, unsatisfied as I had always been, and decided that the act of living life was more important than penning it down for myself later. I was wrong. I assumed that it was as black and white as a hero and a scribe. I was desperately wrong. In hindsight, sneaking off to the creek to read and write was living as the hero. In writing those little love letters and being too scared to send them was the act of living. I lost sight of that in the past few months, and I am likely going to lose sight of them again as I go along to this next phase of my life (Go Cards! (Hopefully)). I hope that you can take a minute to remember what it was like to be that kid at the creekbed under the bridge, and aspire to be that again someday. I hope you can still remember Eli the Good, Let the Great World Spin, North 10 2nd. I hope you still remember Reece, Jacob, Kade, Lindsay, Laikin, and Gabe. I hope you still remember home. Sincerely, Preston If you are driving a boring car by now im gonna be so ******* disappointed in you