Eternity on Paper [COMPLETE]

How've You Been?

Trigger warning: minor description of self harm.

***

She sat at her desk, staring at the paper in front of her with disbelief. Just a moment prior, she had thoughtlessly grabbed an envelope from the mailbox, thinking it would be nothing more than another advertisement or bill to stack atop the others. But it wasn't, it was a letter addressed to her, from herself.

Confused, she slit the envelope open and unearthed its contents. Her eyes began to follow the words, tracing each letter bit by bit.

Dear future me,

How've you been? If you're reading this right now, you must be old now! What's it like? Are you rich and famous? Are you married with kids? Do you have a big house with a swimming pool and lots of land? I'm so curious. When I close my eyes, I see exactly what I want the future to be. But when it comes, I want it to be even better. Speaking of closing my eyes...

Lately, in my dreams, there's a million of me. We're like worker bees in a world of nothingness. Some of us dot the darkness with beautiful, twinkling stars. Others hang the planets like stage props. One of us does a captivating dance routine and forms the swirls of the galaxies while some blow kisses that form glowing comets. Amazing, right? What do you think it all means?

Anyway, I hope you're doing well. Take care of yourself and smile often!

Love, yours truly.

She crumpled the letter in her clenched fist, gritting and grinding her teeth.

The memories of writing that letter a decade prior came rushing back to her, flooding her mind with the sounds of screams and shattering glass.

The enthusiasm in each word couldn't be more artificial, she thought. But nothing, to her, was more fake than that signature. "Love, yours truly".

She yanked a blank sheet of paper from a shelf and slammed it down on her desk. With the click of the black pen in her hand, she began to glide the tip across the thin canvas.

Dear me,

You know the answer to all those questions; you always have. No, you don't get a single thing you want in life. Do you want to know why? Press your ear to the door behind you. Better yet, find a mirror and stare into it. Ask the pathetic girl that stares back at you if she really believes she can have any of those things. Lick those scars on your wrists and ask yourself why things don't get any better. The next time you close your eyes, you're better off not opening them again.

For that matter, you ought to realize that the dreams you have when you're asleep are just as worthless as the ones you have when you're awake. The universe you crafted in the darkness wasn't a playground of freedom, it was a prison you willingly locked yourself in. Those stars and planets are every bit as fake as the smile you flash every time a camera snaps a picture of you.

If you want to figure out what that dream means, ask yourself why there's millions of you. In fact, I'll give you the answer. It isn't some work of alchemy that there are so many of you, every time you have that dream you refuse to leave that damn prison, and one day there will be so many of you that you will suffocate. And you know what? You'll deserve every breathless second.

Guess what, I am doing well. I'm doing better than you. I don't take care of myself very well, but sometimes my smile is real. There isn't much more to say than that, so I'll sign off with this.

Love, your older self. I'm sorry no one else ever did.

She took the freshly written letter in her hand and rose from her desk. With an absence in her gaze, she stepped out onto the balcony and ripped the letter to shreds. Holding out her palms, the wind carried the remnants of her message on its breeze off into the night.

Her eyes trailed upward, taking in the endless stars and the shining moon above.