If I could meet 18-year-old me for coffee

If I could meet 18-year-old me for coffee, I’d order us herbal tea. I’d tell her she was brilliant, and she better listen to me. I’d warn her life gets harder, but there’s no real cause to worry. The road bends and bumps and fissures, so, “Slow down, there is no hurry.”

I’d urge to read in her spare time, to keep writing every day. I’d tell her to spend more time with Gram, and to go outside to play. “The mountains are the answer, no matter what the question. And if you pause to take it, a fresh breath can be a lesson.”

I’d tell her she was beautiful, but to take that makeup off. “It’s clumpy and distracting, and you’re really better off.” I’d tell her not to dye her hair so much, to wear some longer skirts. I’d urge to let more women in, and to chill, because heartbreak really hurts.

I’d say, “Enjoy this time, have fun but study. School is harder than it looks. Stop chasing boys and tequila shots, you’re more than just your looks.” I’d tell her not to lose her dreams, but to loosen up her grasp. “They’re going to shift, disappear, and change, so just enjoy the lapse.”

If I could meet 18-year-old me for coffee, I’d order us herbal tea. I’d sit about 3 seconds until I realized this girl made me, me. And then I’d let her be.

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