Advice To My Younger Self

i met my younger self on the trail just after dawn.

fog still in the air.

he was late. i didn’t mind.

he came walking up the path, hood up over his head,

eyes tired from too many late nights and Bud Lights

his shoes were worn. his spirit too.

he said a lot… trying to be understood

But there was no substance in the words he spoke

we started walking, steady steps between us.

there’s something about the trail that makes you honest.

it pulls truth from our bones.

he made a few jokes

Then we looked up to the morning sky

finally he asked, “does it ever stop feeling heavy?”

i didn’t lie.

i told him some things get lighter.

some don’t.

but you get stronger.

God makes sure of that.

he smirked…

i saw the weight he carried.

anger that wasn’t his to hold.

guilt that never belonged to him.

wounds still bleeding under the surface.

i wanted to say it all:

that he’d heal.

that he’d lead.

that he’d learn how to let love in without bracing for pain.

but i didn’t.

he didn’t need a lecture.

he needed space.

so i walked beside him.

let the silence wrap around us like a prayer.

at the top, we stopped.

wind howling through the trees like the voice of God Himself.

he turned to me and asked, “are you proud of who we become?”

i looked him in the eyes and said,

“i’m proud of you for surviving the parts no one knew about.”

we stood there for a while

two versions of the same soul,

one still hurting, one still healing.

we said goodbye without saying it.

We was never good at goodbyes…

he turned and walked back down the trail.

i stayed behind, watching the sun break through the fog.

we won’t meet again for a long time.

but every day,

i carry the memory of a boy

who didn’t need to be told he was strong

just needed to be reminded… he was not forgotten