dear 2015 Elise,
As I sit here thinking about you, my heart aches a little bit. Kind of in the way when a friend is hurting and you can’t make it go away—all you can do is sit there, hoping that your quiet presence eases even a bit of their pain. Also kind of like the moment in a horror movie when you know the monster is about to pop out, and you’re yelling in vain at the screen for the protagonist to watch out. My heart aches for your overflowing excitement as you piled your life into the back of a dark blue Prius. You were so impatient to escape into this new, bigger life that you moved yourself in completely alone—mini fridge and all—before Mom got back from parking the car. I ache for that fierce hope and determination. I want to share some rambling nuggets of wisdom with you, even though I know that you can’t understand them right now. It sucks, but you have to go through all of the things that have made you into me. Even if I could mail this letter to you on August 20, 2015, you wouldn’t be