A Coffee Date With My Younger Self

I met my younger self for coffee today.
She was an hour late, but I came in a little early.

“She must be choosing her shoes.”
I thought to myself as I scribbled in my diary.

Finally, she walked in with her glowing face and glimmering confidence.
I waved at her as she continued to look for me in the corner.

She was dressed in vibrant bold red.
I preferred the quiet confidence of black.

She waltzed in her six-inch glittery black stilettos
while I sat comfortably in my white sneakers.

Her bag was so perfect but too tiny for me.
I showed her mine, full of dreams and limitless possibilities.

She carried a book with her; of course, she loved reading so much.
I showed her the first one I published.

Her eyes were filled with countless questions.
I smiled at her and said, “You’ll find out.”

She was careful, measuring her words, always trying to please.
I told her to be honest and let things be.

Her coffee order was dolce with extra sugar.
Mine was hazelnut with no syrup.

She wanted to try every path.
I advised her to choose one and go with all her heart.

She feared so many things.
I reminded her to believe in herself.

She held onto regrets and traumas I can barely recall now.
I told her to let go and see the magic in freedom.

She dreamed of achieving a million things.
I smiled and said, “Let’s settle for ten thousand, please.”

She showed me the places on her bucket list.
I showed her the pictures of those on my phone.

She was both a mess and a masterpiece.
A tear rolled down my right eye as I saw, for the first time, so much beauty in chaos.

She loved roses.
I loved peonies.

She cared a little too much about how she appeared.
I reminded her that beauty always reflects from within.

She poured herself into others, always giving.
I told her, “That’s not my cup of coffee anymore.”

She was always a good writer but didn’t know where to start.
I showed her the first book that inspired me to write.

She was afraid to tell her story.
I placed a little courage in her hands.

She was hesitant to let the world in.
I whispered, “Open up, it’s okay.”

She was surrounded by laughter, by voices filling the space around her.
I introduced her to my own sweet little world.

She bragged a little about the loved ones who always had her back.
I wanted to tell her about the people who stayed when the seasons change.

She was fearless but afraid of losing too much.
I reminded her not to lose herself while holding on too tight.

She wanted all the answers at once.
I taught her to trust the unfolding.

She was bruised a little, carrying her pain quietly.
I helped her write it down instead.

She still smiled through her pain, keeping it like a secret.
I reminded her, “It’s okay to cry too.”

She always picked a corner seat far away and safe.
I taught her how to make her own place.

She looked a little anxious sometimes.
I taught her to slow down and breathe.

Her room was overflowing with chic bags and glittery heels.
Mine was filled with space – and a lot of space.

She looked at me in shock. “That could never be me,” she said.
I smiled but couldn’t disagree.

She absorbed everything carefully, taking it all in like a sponge.
I taught her how to let it all out into words.

She hesitated, just like she always did.
But for the first time, she wanted to try.

She carried so much stuff, thinking she needed it all.
I showed her my magical bag – full of love, memories and so many sparkles.

Her calendar was packed with a million things.
I reminded her to add a few “do nothing” days.

She loved being on the top of the world – with tall skyscrapers and city lights.
I laughed and said, “Wait until you get on that pole.”

She always searched for love in people and places.
I showed her the tattoo on my shoulder.

She played me her playlist.
I told her, I still listened to hers whenever I missed her.

She loved dressing her barbie dolls.
And I showed her the same in my wardrobe.

She was afraid to share everything with her mom.
I told her, “Mom is my best friend now.”

She painted sunsets in her drawing book.
I showed her the most picturesque view outside my window.

She always waited for people to include her in their plans.
I showed her how to create her own.

She doubted me a little.
So, I handed her one of my magical pouches.

She peeked inside and found nothing but glitter.
I smiled and whispered, “I gave you the magic. You’ll fill it up yourself.”

As she hurried off to her next plan, she apologized once again for being fashionably late.
I smiled and thanked her wholeheartedly, for giving me the perfect moment to write my favorite piece.

P.S. This poem is inspired by Jennae Cecelia’s Deep in My Feels.
I’d love to see your version of it!