2. Dear 13-year-old me 

Dear 13-year-old me, 

Almost a decade later, the world around me has changed. I’ve changed. Friends have come and gone. Family dynamics have shifted. The wall colors in this room are different, the furniture rearranged—but somehow, it all still feels the same.

I sit here, grounded in this space that once held all my dreams, all my drama, all my growing pains. The conversations I have with my three best friends feel familiar, but the content is so different. We're no longer whispering about how cute Patrick from middle school is or how we swore Mr. Gross’s chorus class was cursed. Now, it's late-night talks about love, the real kind. About what hurts and what heals. About the people who helped us grow and the ones who showed us what we’d never settle for again. Somehow, our simple conversations about boys and drama still exist, just this time, on a whole different level.

The bed still squeaks every time someone shifts. Same as it did when four of us would cram onto it during sleepovers. I can still feel the memories pressed into the mattress: the laughter, the crying, the “you’ll never believe what just happened” kind of nights.

To my right sits the same piano where we once recorded a cover of “7 Years” by Lukas Graham on Musical.ly. People dueted it and made fun of us, sure—but we didn’t care. We were just happy to be together. That joy was real. That’s something I hope you never lose.

If I could go back, I’d tell you this: the things that feel like the end of the world right now, aren’t. The world didn’t end when you got your heart broken because Noah from math class didn’t call you when he said he would. It definitely didn’t end when you didn’t pass your history test or when your best friend stopped texting back. It hurt, sure. But your world was only just beginning.

You will outgrow people, places, and even parts of yourself. But you’ll also grow into someone you’ll be so proud of one day. Someone who learns to let go and hold on, all at once. Someone who loves deeply, laughs loudly, and still calls home when it all feels like too much.