A letter from myself in 2030 year

A letter from myself in 2030 year

Writing short excerpts at 11.00 pm becomes a tradition, but nothing else. Maybe all because the almost full moon shines through my windows today and its silver light terribly annoys me, and I can’t fall asleep. Now I’ll put down a kettle and make myself tea with sugar(it is my habit), I’ll put on my headphones and turn on the music and start writing a long letter to myself.

So, Dear Abbos - this letter is a kind of appeal to the future to the new and cleverer Me. To the one that lives somewhere far away - far beyond seven seas and ten hills. To the one that has a different name, which has a different appearance and maybe the language is slightly different from what I speak nowadays(uzbek). Maybe you are - Dear. I will read this message in a year or a week, or a month. Or maybe by accident, you will find it on this page and the lines written by me here will be touched and you will recognize the Mirror I who was concluded here after a decade. I will no longer know that my humble message has reached you - however, you will know, because a piece of my soul will be enclosed in these letters, lines, sentences, paragraphs, and when you read it, you will feel that you are me - I am you.

Dear Me - I really hope that you are much happier than me, that all your dreams come true, that hopes do not fall apart like a house of cards. I think that you do not get up every morning with the question: "Why all this?" To look for work when they tell you each time - no. To begin the lines of a new novel with the thought that the one to whom your lines are intended will NEVER read it in a paperback. To dream that your beloved will give you a present for 14^th february and you will go to the city of love Paris - however, dreams will not come true, because you have still not got a girlfriend and laziness in which you must erase from your life in modern world .

Dear Me - I think that you are now sitting with a laptop on a bench in one of the streets of Tashkent and nodding my words to me, because you saw a part of yourself in my lines. I just imagine that you are reaching for a pen and not writing a few kind words on a postcard, but the trouble is - letters from the future do not reach the past - your letter dear, won’t reach me ... . If it could be sent to the past, I know that it would be a kind of movie such as “we are from future” by Feador Bandarchuk.

And now I’ll take a sip of hot tea, I’ll regret myself a little more, cry a little, finish the letter and go to bed to get up tomorrow morning and say the usual thing - I’m fine, but go in search of ... happiness.

Dear Abbos am from Mirror I.

May 2020