Dear Future,
I used to be worried about you. Or, I guess, worried about me and you. But then I realized: no matter what happens, we’re always ok. You’re the future; you’re always there for me. Not knowing what you look like, taste like, or feel like is weird. But I’m learning to find glitter magic in the mystery. I want to make the most of myself—be my best self—for you.
Dear Future,
I used to be worried about you. Or, I guess, worried about me and you. But then I realized: no matter what happens, we’re always ok. You’re the future; you’re always there for me. Not knowing what you look like, taste like, or feel like is weird. But I’m learning to find glitter magic in the mystery. I want to make the most of myself—be my best self—for you.
I used to feel like I was going to fuck you up or that you were going to fuck me up. Turns out, thinking about you either too much or not enough is what actually fucks things up. You always manage. I always manage. We all manage, somehow. There’s beauty in that.
I know a lot of us have been wishing we had instructions for figuring you out. Maybe a manual for how to make the best of things? Some way to separate nostalgia from destiny, and plot a course among the many nuances of the universe. So, we made one: we wrote a recipe for the future—instructions for the perfectly inconceivable.
Forget measuring. This is 0 parts prediction and all parts imagination. More mess. Care less. The way we see it, we’re all loading life perpetually, so why not have some fun? We are the ingredients. Remixing what’s relative, weaving fiction into reality, and making a million-course meal for future generations. Don’t be scared. You’re the future. You knew this was coming.
We’re out here grinning like fools in the face of uncertainty and learning to love the feeling of jello in our veins. You’re welcome to watch as we revisit our deepest doubts and reclaim those old flavors. Just silly little humans, swimming in hologram memories.
We’re clutching postcards from the past and licking stamps for a message to tomorrow. Some days it feels like you’re shaking our little worlds up like thrift store snowglobes, but we’ll always find our footing. Again. Inspired by the insatiable. In the middle of your loud, bright, meaningless mess.
Dear future,
You look yummy.
Let’s eat.
