Five months ago today I wrote myself a letter.
At the time, it seemed completely appropriate.
Now, it seems terribly critical.
Iffen I were to meet myself that day, I don't think I would've liked me.
It's strange to go back and read some of the things I've previously written.
Some days it sounds like me, others it's a stranger's thoughts.
Still, I'm glad I write. It makes me remember. And sometimes even though I don't want to, I know that I need to.