A letter from Jun 26th, 2021

Dear FutureMe, I feel like I’ve wasted my life. But have I, really? I’ve found things I’m good at. I’ve done things I’ve enjoyed. Laughed. Cried. Eaten so much yet so little. I’ve travelled. And I’m only still a kid. But something, something isn’t there. I reach out, but I can’t find it. The voices in my head speak different languages that I’m slowly learning to understand. I don’t know what it is, but I look back and I see a time I was happier. Theres always a time I was happier. Even if I’m enjoying life, even if I have a great day theres always a time I was happier. These words dont feel like the fit right, because its an indescribable feeling. People are always waiting. Waiting for the weekend, as their week flies past. Waiting for Summer, as Winter melts away. Waiting to be happy as life slowly disappears before them. Because the truth is, humans weren’t made to be still. We weren’t supposed to end up like this. No animal is supposed have free time. The only reason boredom consumes us is because boredom wasn’t supposed to be a thing. We were supposed to have to always be ready. Always be searching for food. Always be on the verge of *****. But now, we dont have to be. We have free time, but too much of it. We have work that we dont want to do and we have friends that we cant keep because humans cant stay still. Thats why kids always want to grow up. For freedom. They think when they grow up their lives will move quickly. They’ll find passion, enjoyment. And sure, they do. But how long till that passion burns out? Or till they can’t reach it at all? Sometimes I sit down and I listen to music. Not with words. Just music. And I think. And then those thoughts consume me. Because I know I was never meant to have them. I was never meant to have this free time that would lead me to those thoughts. I was never meant to have the space to write this down. The world is turning. Time is passing and there is nothing anyone can do. But for some reason, still, none of us can make the most of it.