6 April, sunny
I wrote a letter today to the version of me three months from now, sealed it, and fixed a date.
No grand goals inside — only three small things: I hope that version is still reading that book, can still finish three kilometres, and is still willing to stand beside people better than himself. All verifiable, none of it needing luck.
Expectation is the cheapest fuel there is. Writing to the future works not because future me will read it, but because present me knows someone is watching.
Instead of making a wish, sign a note.
Open it in three months.
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