a note to days gone by


Dear Almost Eighteen,

First things first: sit next to the tissues at that graduation and birthday party mom and dad are throwing for you.

I know you don’t think you’ll need them. She called tonight’s celebration one of Wine and Cheesy Poetry for a reason, and I promise it will be funny, but trust me: grab that box of Kleenex. Dusty’s about to read you a poem that his brother wrote just for this occasion. You’ll recognize it by his voice and by the frame in which it sits.

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