A Series Of Things That Probably Won’t Matter In The End:
That class you failed your junior year of college, a mistake that was only yours to own.
The way your thighs took up a little more space than you would have liked them to, the way your stretch marks swam along your sides.
All the people who never even bothered to learn your name.
How “cool” you were in high school.
How “cool” you were in general.
The time you told him how much you wanted it to be him and how he only looked at his phone.
The cruel words that were thrown at you when you were at your lowest.
The cruel words you spit out when you were at your lowest.
Who you were at your worst.
Who you were at your best.
Your first job.
Your first love.
Your worst heartbreak.
The deep depression you went into your junior year as a result of losing an entire group of friends without so much as a goodbye.
The amount of time it took you to let go of that group of friends and how tightly you held on, refusing to move on until you had no other choice but to do so.
The people who couldn’t love you back.
Your worst day.
Your best day.
And A Series Of Things That Probably Will:
How kind you were to the people who could do nothing for you.
How much you cared; how much you allowed yourself to care.
Who you were most days.
Your willingness to forgive those who never apologized.
Whether you allowed those who hurt you to color all future relationships.
Your ability to learn from your mistakes.
Your ability to admit to your mistakes.
How well you said, “Sorry.”
How willing you were to say, “Sorry.”
Your faith in tomorrow.
Your awareness of today.
Your allowance of the past.
How much you let yourself to enjoy what it is you enjoyed.
The way you let yourself fall for someone you knew wouldn’t last for no other reason than to love them, even if it was just for a little while.
How far you were willing to go for the ones you held close.
How hard you fought for what you were passionate about.
How loudly you laughed.
Whether you let yourself cry or whether you just held it all inside.
The way you spoke to yourself.
Who you were when no one was watching.
How deeply you loved.