You sit there, elbows propped on the kitchen table, head resting on the back of your hands, you inch forward expectantly, your gaze fixed steadfastly on my lips, on every movement they make, almost as if you anticipate each letter forming the words I utter to be visible, and you can't wait to delve in to them.
You're so untainted, so unsuspecting, you don't even hesitate to wonder for a moment if you'll be let down by what I am about to deliver.
I haven't missed you much. You're insecure, so afraid to do what others do with ease. I would tell you to stop, that your appearance really shouldn't matter that much, but I won't. You're dreamy, your aspirations cross the line between impressive to being mostly unrealistic. I would feed you all these cliches, would reblog a thousand motivational posts on Tumblr, but I won't.
I might appear superior to you, but I'm not. I'm mostly like you, a bit more, a bit less.
and I don't even have that much to say to you so I'll just stop here.
You, are my 12 year old self.
I, am my 20 year old self today.
I hope you're not too disappointed with myself because I am.
