Post-It Note to Younger Self.

Admit that you always wanted lovers, long life, and longish letters secreted in boxes and scented with dead-rose sachets. You were never guileless. No nunnery ever awaited your arrival; you were not holy. And often — yes, often — you did not want to be. You still aren’t, but some days, now, you do desire it. This comes with firsthand knowledge of what it is to be fairly besotted. You will only want to be cleansed when you’ve allowed yourself to be sullied. You are still very afraid, still intimidated by others’ brazenness, still startled somehow by your own. You have not stopped hobbling your inner sprinter.

Admit that, before you were grown, you wanted to straddle chairs and tilt your head while a painter tried to capture something inimitable in you. Now that you have straddled more than chairs, you wonder if there is anything inimitable in you. Are we ever as singular as we think we are?

Admit that you wanted God to turn His head while you made love, because you never really intended to marry, and He knows that you never mean Him harm. You may’ve dreamt of weddings but never of the rugs that would need beating once a month, the bleaching of dingy boxer-briefs, of breast-milk-encrusted bras and a lifetime of servitude. You will not come to view marriage as much different than you do now; you will not tie it in many meaningful ways to the motherhood that precedes it. You always meant to flit about without that kind of accountability. And even when you are your most lonely, even when you are penitent, even when you confess all your sins: you still do.

Admit that you did not want to comport yourself as you did, closing as quickly as a small aperture. You imagined yourself as magnifying glass, translucent, enlarging, but never entirely seen. It would not have been terrible for you to be a watery blur of unconsidered colors. You could have been what happens when pewter commingles magenta, when olive meets cornflower.

I am taking you to task. You haven’t learned. You haven’t learned. And for all your attempts at honesty, you still make yourself duplicitous when you want most to be loved.

Who are you now but the girl that you were, without so much pretending? Who are you now, but someone who lives a bit beneath herself, wants the wrong things, and hopes to raise a less apologetic woman?

Advertisements

9 thoughts on “Post-It Note to Younger Self.

  1. absolutely love the following lines:

    “You always meant to flit about without that kind of accountability. And even when you are your most lonely, even when you are penitent, even when you confess all your sins: you still do.

    Who are you now but the girl that you were, without so much pretending? Who…hopes to raise a less apologetic woman?”

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s