A letter from March 14th, 2021

Dear FutureMe, heyyy! what's up? what are you interested in about now? Need I remind you, this year you have (had) -An infatuation with young Billie Joe Armstrong -tried to come out and promptly fucked back into the closet -lost your parents trust, like, almost completely Have you learned to play electric guitar yet? Are you famous (lmao)? Have you made yourself a Whatshername or Rhiannon? How is Sophia doing? What about Sandi? What do you wear? The same beat up Vans? Are you the REAL YOU yet? Have you dyed your hair? Hurt yourself? Had a relationship? You're a stranger to me. It's odd, really. I don't know you, but you know me. Do you even exist? Hell, you could be dead. I could be dead, and don't even know it yet. Please tell me it gets better. Please, for the love of God, tell me that we're who we're meant to be. Enjoy high school, bitch. Fucking moping won't do shit for you in the long run, we've established that already. Sorry, that was mean. Please tell me you have AT LEAST ONE weirdo shirt. xoxo