A letter from January 26th, 2018

Donna, Donna, Happy birthday! You are TWENTY-FIVE. I'm proud of you for making it this far. I hope you are well. It is a sweaty sweltering summer, late January, I am nineteen, and still a little bit confused. Last night I went to watch Call Me By Your name with Mr Tsang. It was his fourteenth time watching the film, and my first. It was lovely and reminded me of beautiful things. He is the sweetest man I know. How is he? Do you still keep in contact? I am having a lazy day, half-dressed, hair up. You know how it is. I think I will sketch a Klimt painting today, since I have so much time. I feel very young, thinking of you. I feel like nineteen sounds like a lovely age, and I hope it is, I hope hope hope so. The summer I learned how to drive, the year I wanted to write, etc. etc. I hope you are still a writer, a poet, an artist of sorts. Promise me you are. Promise me you are still hopeful, that your heart is still pure. Maybe you are even in love. What do I really want to say to you? I hope you are alive. I hope you are still fighting the fight. If you still have plans for a dramatic exit via suicide, please remember me, your younger self. I am always rooting for you. Have a blessed life. Love you.