if i could tell my sixteen-year-old self the shit that would happen on jan. 31, 2020, she wouldn't believe me. she would think it was all just a pipedream or wishful thinking. she wouldn't believe october and she wouldn't believe "we should" in november (or her answer that followed). she wouldn't believe smoking and hugging and telling secrets and driving his car with j in the passenger and c in the backseat (or holding c's hand to figure out how to turn the headlights on). or standing in a driveway with his arm around her in the most platonic and comforting way, apologizing without words. she wouldn't believe peppermint tea and dark conversations and wanting to fix it for him but knowing that she herself felt the same. but i'm not sixteen anymore and i believe it all happened. i lived it and i am thankful for it and its realness.

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