A note to self.

I would like to talk with my younger self, 

And see what she thinks of me,

What she thinks when she sees the person who swore to always be happy, 

crumbling right before her eyes,

What she thinks when she sees how cynical I’ve become,

How pessimistic,

How the smile that she always swore to wear has faded into a grim neutral,

Lips thinned into a line of doubt at what everyone says,

A trusting smile replaced by a shield that her older self hides with,

Defence mechanisms that seem far too desperate for any situation at all,

A child who had gotten compliments on how nice she was, 

Now a jaded person with no goals,

But that jaded person still gets described as sweet,

And loving,

And caring,

She would surely think,

"How?
How are people able to describe this person as all those things?"

But that girl was too sweet to think of people that way,

She would likely instead think,

"I wonder if they’re okay?"
And I miss that girl,

That girl who was stabbed horribly again and again by life,

That girl who vowed to keep a smile on her face no matter what,

That girl is lost,

And a significantly worse person has taken her body from her,

She watches,

Helpless,

As her sweet personality is stomped,

Disparaged,

And hidden,

The world has no place for children with a constant smile,

And she had known this,

But she had still wanted to try,

Much to her own detriment,

If I could talk with my younger self though,

I would never tell her to hide that beautiful smile you see in the photos,

I would tell her to keep it, 

In the hopes she would turn out better than me.