1/03/25 Meeting Myself for Coffee

I Met My Younger Self for Coffee

I spotted her before she saw me wild hair, fierce eyes, and a stubborn set to her jaw, like she was daring the world to come at her. She moved like she was ready to run or fight at a moment’s notice. I remembered that feeling.

She slid into the chair across from me, arms folded, gaze sharp. Suspicious. Curious.

"You don’t look that different," she finally said, tilting her head.

I smirked. "You do."

She scoffed. "Bullshit. I’m the same. I always will be."

I took a slow sip of my coffee. Oh, how I remembered that certainty, that fire. The belief that life was something to wrestle with, to conquer, to fight tooth and nail for. I loved her for it. I ached for her because of it.

"You’re stronger than you think," I told her. "And you don’t always have to fight."

Her eyes narrowed. "I don’t trust easy words."

I leaned forward. "Good. You shouldn’t. But trust this you survive. You build a life that would make you weep with pride. You find love that doesn’t cage you. You learn that freedom isn’t just running, it’s standing still and knowing you’re exactly where you’re meant to be."

She stared at me, fingers drumming against the table. I could feel the questions forming, the fire of disbelief burning behind her ribs.

"But the pain......."

"You carry it. You heal it. And you use it to light the way for others."

For the first time, she hesitated.

"Do I ever stop feeling like I have to prove myself?"

I reached across the table, took her hand, and squeezed.

"One day, you’ll wake up and realize you never had to prove a damn thing."

She exhaled, something in her shoulders easing just a little. The waitress dropped off the bill, and when I looked up again she was gone.

But I felt her still, walking beside me.

Always.