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This is a message for me-
past me, present me,
past you, present you-
to you, to me, to myself, for myself-
a little experiment in self-portrait poetry.

I have tried this before, but it didn’t really work;
however you know how forgetful I am, we are,
when it comes down to remembering what I have, we have,
written and where-
but I like to think of that part of me, of us,
as number 47 on a list of a thousand of my, of our,
quintessential and character-defining quirks.

It has always been a fantasy of mine
to meet a future version of myself, to meet you-
I am not entirely certain why
I have always been fascinated by stories of time-travel,
but I never thought for a second to actually give it a try-
poetically-speaking, of course-
but, then again, I suppose that is what I have been doing for years:
talking to myself, meeting myself, through my poetry,
through my feelings, through my memories-
learning about myself from the source.

I wonder who I fell in love with, who broke my heart,
I wonder if I ever met my muse;
I wonder if I, you, ever got used to getting old;
I wonder if the world is still learning to live with itself,
and whether there is something truly amazing, hopeful,
and life-changing to be reported on the news.
I wonder if I am still a poet, I wonder if I am still in love with writing-
I hope I am, I hope you are, because writing,
especially the poetry that we have written, means the world to us, to me:
every poem is like a new adventure into an imaginary space,
that always inspires us even more, and every meaning of every word
is thought-provoking and exciting.

If, and when, I, you, ever read this again,
think back to now, to this exact moment,
that you are, that I am, writing this,
and think of yourself, think of me-
because I am wondering about you, what you did, what I will do;
and, from time to time, I will read back what I have written
in this poem to you,
who, of course, will one day become the future Me.

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