Dear younger me,

I am sorry to say, I have failed you.

The nights you spend wondering what your teenage years would be filled with, have been wasted. The parties, potential drinking, and the boys you thought you would leave with a midnight kiss and a love story you secretly hoped for but couldn't admit, never happened. Instead those nights were filled with crying and thinking. For friendships disintegrated into memories I recall on silent nights. So quiet that the noise of tears dropping into my pillow become the loudest thing you'll ever hear. Those friends didn't come to last as long as you had said they would, and what was left of them was much worse.

I am sorry to say that I didn't achieve.

The days at school you spent so sure you would get somewhere so far and so bright didn't seem to reach the hype. I guess I wasn't the smartest one in the class anymore. Instead I blended into the many faces with the many stories behind their average grades. I became the same; though I tried and gave it all I had, the realization that I came to fight too late hit me harder than that day in second grade when Tifany hit you with stick. Except my regret never healed. 

Though your life has not yet been so nice, and your storyline for adventure never came. Enjoy the idea of imagining a greater life and live off the eurphoric idea that your teenage years will be that of a movie. Because it can be quite nice to fly up to the planets but quite disapointing to finally land. Though it has not all been bad and there can be good times, how about from now on we begin writing our own adventures instead of waiting for one to come reach us.

I am enthusiastic to say, goodluck.