Dear Person,

Happy eleventh birthday! Get ready for a year full of moments of fleeting happiness embedded in hours of despair! Doesn't sound very encouraging, but I've stopped sugarcoating things. Deep inside, you know as well as I do, that things aren't going to get better in a hurry, but you also know that this cannot be the end. Which is why you believe, and pray, all the time you can, and seriously, keep it up. God's there to fix it all up. But don't have expectations- I know you don't but still, a warning is always good. Life's got it's own vicissitudes (you can ignore that word-you don't know what it means yet, and you don't need to, I just put it to make it sound fancy). Just be good, like yourself; I still try my best to be.

I won't bother asking how life in general is going, cause I already know that it is terrible at this point. I won't specifically allude to it, cause I know you know what I mean, and I also know that you hate to even think about it. I do too. It is painful. But it is true that things could be worse, but they aren't (yet, at least), so be grateful. And really, it's all gonna be fine ultimately. This isn’t just a random optimistic aphorism; trust me, I'm telling you cause I know it. And that was all really just for the sake of satisfaction- I won't tell you to not give up, cause I know you never do. How I know all of this, though, is quite another thing.

Before you start speculating who has written this letter to you, when hardly anyone even texts you, just forget it all for the moment, we'll deal with that later. As for the part about getting texts, I really wish I could tell you something really exciting, but I won't, cause, like I've watched way too many time travel films and I don't want to risk ruining this reality of mine(this probably makes my identity). This time thing is also the reason why I speak of nothing specific. Not like I can actually risk anything, practically speaking, but who cares about practicality? Cause it's not like you're actually gonna get and read this letter or anything, but isn't it so great to pretend? I love make-believe, and I know you do, too, so just play along.

Writing to you feels great, but now I'm kind of running out of things to say without spoilers, so I guess I'll conclude. And about my identity, you have in all probability guessed it, but again, let's pretend that you haven't, so that I can reveal it to you in the most mysterious way I could think of. You know I'm not a friend, cause you don't really have any. You know I'm not Father, and you know I'm not Mother. Then who am I exactly? I am someone who knows you more than anyone else, in fact more than you do yourself. And you know me too, or at least you think you do. To be frank, I'm very different from what you imagine me to be, but then you are still kind of stupid, and if I may add, a bit cringe as well, so, technically, my not being what you may think is not a bad thing at all. If you still haven't realised who yours truly is, I'll have my subscription be the grand exposé: I wish you the best, and sign myself of as, 

Yours ever so lovingly and sincerely,

The Very Same Person (but an older, smarter, and happier version).