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To My 19 Year Old Self (A Kind of Prologue)

19,

Hello.

How does it go? How do you feel?

You know, things get complicated as you grow up. It's an axiom. A universal truth. I know that it's been a rollercoaster ride for you these days, and it's alright. You'll see, you'll get through this. Everyone does.

This is not entirely happening for you. I'm not gonna say to stop feeling down because you need it for quite some time. There is this mysterious connection between sadness and writing, and you need a tolerable amount of sadness for you to vomit words that will own you. Like it was the only way out.

I wanted to tell you what I am now, or what I'm up to. I wanted to tell you everything that happened after you--- you know, just to assure you that it's not the end (or how else could I write this to you?)

But I chose not to divulge anything, because that's how it works. What you know ahead won't really help you in the slightest. And where's the fun in knowing ahead?

And also, I want you to find the answer to your own question yourself.

Why does it really have to end?

I know that the answer to that question is what really matters to you now, but trust me, it isn't.

Why?

Because it isn't.

So to help you understand, I sent you these poems. These are written by you, later on, and by reading it I hope that it will shed some light on you. I want to be clear, these are not the answers you are looking for. These are clues, you see, about what's next in line to you, hidden in words that only came out of me because of you. Because you did.

And by the time you'll finish this, you will know why it didn't really matter.

I read somewhere that if we are not afraid of what the future brings, then endings are beginnings of beautiful things. You can't undo what's been done, that's the magic of youth.

So that's what I can say for now.

P.S.
I know how you love puzzles, so take note of the words in bold letters.

:)