Dear 16-year-old-me,

Oh god, what are you doing?!  No, I’m not talking about the pigtails or that ridiculous bustle skirt you insist on wearing to school (where the hell is that by the way?)…I’m talking about that boy.  No, not Mr. J.Crew from theatre…the one you’re writing all the crappy poetry about.  You know, the one who thinks he’s Johnny Cash.  Stop blushing and denying it (this is only going to make it more obvious that you’re lying when your parents ask you where you’ve been all night).

I know you’re not going to listen to anything I say, but you’re going to be hearing it from pretty much anyone with a pulse until you’re 21, so here goes: He’s not worth it.  What do I mean?  The worrying, the crying, the isolation from your friends that will last long after he’s out of your life, and most of all the sadness.

He does love you.  If he doesn’t already, he will be the time you’re me.  But it’s not enough. This boy may be sweet and charming, but what he’s doing is not only destroying his life, but it’s going to come very close to destroying yours too.  You will do and say things for this kid you never in a million years imagined you’d do.

Eventually, he’ll get better…alone.  You’ll both move on to other people.  More than a year later, you’ll hang up the phone amazed at the clarity that the distance has given you and happy that it didn’t turn out the way you’d been planning.

You’ll be all right.  I promise.

❤ Suzi