Time Capsule

A letter folded small,
tucked inside a tin—
words meant for a future self
who doesn’t know her yet.

I hope you still love thunderstorms.
I hope you kept the dog.
I hope the thing that broke you
was worth breaking for.

We bury what we cannot hold
and call it hope,
press it into earth
like a seed we aren’t sure of.

The girl who writes this
is sitting cross-legged on the floor,
chewing the end of her pen,
trying to imagine forward.

She can’t.

So she writes what she knows—
the smell of rain on pavement,
her mother’s laugh,
the way summer always feels
like it will last.

Find this when you’re ready.
Or when you’re not.
Either way—

you made it.