A letter from May 11, 2025

Dear Future Me, All things seem possible in May. The month slithers slowly, offering a gentle breeze, warm sunshine, and clear skies. May I? it asks, kindly. May I come in? it prompts. May I lift your spirits and lighten your burdens? May I return hope to you? May I erase all the cold from January, the despair from February, the rains of March, and the monotony of April? May I give you a glimpse of what summer will look like? May I offer you light tan lines, calm afternoons, and new beginnings? May is not without its flaws, though. May can drive you to your knees and leave you there, stranded. May can quiet the misery and sorrow of the past. May can usher in delirium in its stead—the mania that was left dormant behind your eyes, but now buzzes under your skin. May allows for hope.