Letters I Never Sent: Please Help Me Remember

Hi Bella,

It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Not that you can answer, but in my head, I’m imagining you rolling your eyes and saying, Finally.

I feel a little rusty writing like this—an actual letter. When was the last time Mom made us sit down to write thank-you cards? God, she was relentless about that. Every single person who sent even the smallest gesture got a perfectly penned note. It’s been, what—ten years? At least.

Anyway. I miss you.

I’m sitting at our favorite coffee shop in the Lower East Side. You know the one—the little place that somehow survived, even with that corporate monster breathing down its neck from across the street. I keep thinking about all the wild dreams we spun in this exact spot. It’s strange how, from the moment we stepped foot in Union Square, we just knew—this city was home. The streets became second nature. No matter how many tequila shots we threw back, we always knew the way home.

God, we were ambitious. I still remember you obsessing over every private, invite-only party below 14th Street, standing outside, watching, swearing that one day, you’d be inside. And you did it. You got in. Then suddenly, you were everywhere. The best places, the best parties—people knew your name. You left your mark in ways I don’t think you ever realized. Even now, strangers stop me, asking about you. People you met years ago, at some random event, still light up when they talk about how you inspired them.

I think that’s what I miss most—your fearlessness. You never hesitated, never backed down, no matter how terrifying something seemed. I remember you before those big speaking gigs, sweating through your shirt, laughing at how nervous you were—then walking up there and owning it. You have to see what a badass you were. Are.

I don’t think about those years as often as I should. Honestly, some of it’s a blur—the endless grind, the constant chasing. It probably looked glamorous from the outside, but for me, it never felt like enough. Did it for you? I always wonder. Was there ever a moment when you thought, Wow, I made it? I kept waiting for that feeling, that epiphany. It never came. Certain dreams, once realized, just… flattened. And I hate how that sounds, but it’s the truth.

I’m working on something new now. It feels different. Exciting, but in a way I don’t fully understand yet. And I keep thinking—what would you do? Would you leap without hesitation, without caring how it looked? I know you would. You’d dive in headfirst, throw your whole damn soul into it, work until it was something undeniable. That’s what made you you. And I could use a little of that right now.

Also—and let’s just get this out of the way—you would hate the men I’ve been dating. Oh my God. I can practically see your face, scrolling through their photos, then looking at me in horror. You’d give them ridiculous nicknames until I finally caved and blocked them. And the worst part? You’d be right. I am settling. I never thought I would, but… here we are.

Fuck. I hope you’re not disappointed.

If you have a moment—if there’s even the slightest chance you can help—I need you. Your fire. Your certainty. Those magical blinders you wore so well, the ones that blocked out doubt and let you chase what you wanted, without apology. I feel beaten up by life. Tired. Really tired. And I don’t know if I want to keep pushing the boundaries of what is possible.

But I also know you’d be furious if I stopped dreaming.

So, what if—just hypothetically—you came back for a bit? Just until I figure this out? I swear, I’ll listen. I’ll do whatever you say. Minus the tequila shots.

What do you say, old friend? Will you jump timelines and help your older self out one more time?

I love you. Always.

Bella.

A letter to my younger self.

Read more stories here. Follow on Instagram here.