It’s an odd gesture to be writing to a mass of cells that will likely fall away as quickly as they have managed to take me captive, to wrap my mind in a tangle of hope and worry; to wholeheartedly want this future and to plead for the universe for more time, more preparation, more stability.
We haven’t been here, at this particular juncture, in quite a while — near about five years, if I remember correctly; but the base of my fear is the same now as it was back then: I’m not ready for this. He’s not ready for this, he doesn’t even know about this. We. are not. ready. for this. But we may have to be. Soon.
Even then, all those years ago, I wrote to the transient cells. I wrote out my hopes for the future; I wrote out my excitement, despite the fear, at what my world could quickly become. I scrawled page after page of my worries for futures, more often for the one belonging to the eventual You. I wrote out my disbelief, my trepidation at the fact that this was happening, that I would fail, that I can’t give all that’s deserved — required, even.
No matter the outcome, no matter whether they grow or go, we’ll get by. We will. We can’t let it be any other way. I’ve never wanted a lot but I’ve always wanted You. I’ve always wanted Us. Someday, I’m reminded. Someday soon or further away, we’ll share in the creation of this newly formed We.