The social media trend.

I went for a coffee date with my teenage self. 

I ordered a long black, she asked for a skinny vanilla latte. 

As we sat and talked, she fiddled with her earrings, tugged on her hoody strings and kept jerking her head from side to side to sweep her overgrown purple fringe out of her eyes. I could see where she'd been biting her nails and peeling the cuticles, and I caught her peeking at my fresh gel set. Her eyes boggled when I rolled up my sleeves and she saw my inked arms. 

She asked if it got better.

I didn't tell her. I didn't tell her what was to come in just a few years - how relentlessly life would come at her, kicking and punching, tripping her up and pulling every rug out from under her feet. I didn't tell her that the boy she's in love with right now isn't The One, and nor are any who come after. I didn't show her my scars. I didn't share any photos of the buzzcut. Because I knew she couldn't handle any of that - not yet. 

All I said was, 'we're doing okay. And we are amazing.' I hugged her goodbye, and whispered in her ear to be kinder to her body and mind. Just a little reminder. 

She kept turning back as she walked away, to wave to me one more time. In a final effort to reassure her, I called out 'see you soon!' before she was completely out of view.

G. x