Letters Across Time

May 15, 2024

Dear Future Me,

Do we finally have things figured out? I'm sitting here in my apartment, rain tapping against the window, wondering if I'll ever stop feeling like I'm just pretending to be an adult. I'm questioning everything—my job at the publishing house that once felt like a dream, my relationship with Daniel that's growing increasingly distant, all of it.

If you could respond, what would you say? What decisions would you unmake if given the chance? The apartment feels emptier since Mom's visit last weekend. She kept asking about "future plans" as if I should already know where I'm headed.

I don't even know why I'm doing this. Dr. Winters says writing to yourself like you would to a friend helps with perspective, but right now, I don't feel like my own friend. The rejection letter from Graham & Sons sits on my desk—another reminder that maybe I'm not meant for the editorial career I've imagined.

If you could answer, if you could somehow reach back through time, what would you tell me? Would you say I should take that risk? Would you tell me to stay?

Sincerely, Elise

May 23, 2024

Dear Elise,

I remember writing that letter—the weight in my chest, the feeling that the words weren't enough, the rain against the window that seemed to echo my thoughts. I wish I could say everything works out perfectly, but I need you to listen carefully.

You're about to make a choice. When Daniel calls tomorrow about the job in Seattle, your instinct will be to tell him you'll think about it. Don't. That hesitation will set everything in motion. When the moment arrives, don't pause. Be braver than I was. Trust Amy when she tells you about what she saw, no matter how impossible it seems. And whatever you do, don't throw away Graham's second letter without reading it completely.

The path you're on isn't fixed. I know because I'm walking a different one now, writing to you from a place you can't imagine.

I can't say more, not yet. Just know this is real. I am real. I'll keep writing.

Yours, Elise

May 24, 2024

To Whoever Is Doing This,

No.

I don't know what kind of sick joke this is, but I won't play along. You expect me to believe I sent myself a letter from the future? What am I supposed to make of these cryptic warnings about Daniel, Amy, and Graham? How did you even know about the rejection letter?

Nice try. Life is full of choices. I make them every day, and I don't need some ghost version of myself pretending to know better. Daniel hasn't called about any job in Seattle. Amy hasn't told me anything "impossible." And there is no second letter from Graham & Sons.

Let me make this clear: I don't believe you, and I never will.

Don't write again.

Elise

P.S. I'm throwing your letter in the trash, just in case you try to claim I "ignored the warning" later.

May 26, 2024

Elise,

You can throw away the letters, but they will keep coming.

I know you don't believe me. I didn't believe it either, at first. Tell me, how did you know to check the mailbox at 3:17 this afternoon? You never check it on Sundays.

I remember. You had a feeling. A strange, inexplicable pull. That's why you went outside in the middle of your call with Mom.

That's why you're reading this right now.

Daniel called yesterday, didn't he? About the position in Seattle. You told him you'd think about it, just like I did. The choice is still coming. The real one. Please, don't let your stubbornness make you blind.

Did you notice the paper Graham's letter came on? The watermark in the corner? Look again. It matters.

E.

May 27, 2024

Future Me,

Fine. Let's say I entertain this absurd idea for a second. Let's say you're me. If that's true, then you already know what I'm going to say next.

You already know I don't trust this. You already know I don't listen. You know I'm throwing this letter away, just like the last one.

So why do you keep writing?

I'll tell you why. You're not me. You're someone messing with me, and I refuse to let you get in my head.

Yes, Daniel called. That doesn't prove anything. Half my friends knew he was interviewing there.

This is the last time I acknowledge you. Do not send another letter.

Elise

May 30, 2024

Elise,

You locked the door last night. You checked it twice. You put a piece of tape across the mail slot. I know you did. The letter is here anyway, isn't it?

You can't ignore me anymore.

I need you to listen.

Something is wrong. I thought I could change things by writing to you. I thought I could fix it. But the more I try, the worse it gets. Every letter I send, something shifts. Something breaks.

Amy will call tomorrow. She'll tell you she saw Daniel with Rebecca from marketing. You'll want to confront him immediately. Don't. That's not the choice I'm warning you about.

Graham & Sons will send another letter. A different editor saw your manuscript. This is where everything changes.

I don't know how many more letters I can send. The ink fades faster now. The pages are burning at the edges before they reach you. Look closely—you can see the char marks.

Please. Please.

E.

June 3, 2024

E.,

I don't know why I'm writing back. Perhaps because the last letter arrived despite the tape on the mail slot. Perhaps because the edges were singed, just as you said. Perhaps because Amy did call about Daniel and Rebecca, exactly when you said she would.

The second letter from Graham came this morning.

If you are me, you already know what I'm thinking. You know I'm considering taking the Seattle job with Daniel, despite what Amy told me. You know I'm also considering the junior editor position Graham offered—the one that pays half what I make now but would let me work on manuscripts I believe in.

What happens if I make the wrong choice?

What happens if I stop writing?

Elise

June 5, 2024

Elise,

I never wrote back. My life turned out just fine.

June 8, 2024

Dear Elise,

Don't believe the last letter. It wasn't from me.

I know you're scared. I know it feels like you're losing control. Listen to me: you are the guide. You've always been.

There's something I need to tell you that I couldn't before. The letters—they're not traveling through time the way you think. They're traveling through possibilities. Every choice creates a branch, and somehow, I found a way to reach across.

In my branch, I chose Daniel. I moved to Seattle. I ignored what Amy told me, convinced myself it was jealousy. I declined Graham's offer without a second thought. The life I built looked perfect from the outside—the kind Mom always wanted for me.

But I lost myself along the way. My words dried up. The manuscript you poured your heart into sits in a drawer in my timeline, unfinished, unread.

What you're facing isn't about me reaching back through time. It's about you finally hearing your own voice beneath the noise of expectations. Trust it.

The true choice isn't between Daniel and Graham, between security and risk. It's between living someone else's story or writing your own.

You've been looking for someone to guide you, someone outside yourself, but the truth is, you've always known what to do. You just needed to stop doubting.

That moment is approaching. It won't be easy, but it's yours to make. Don't fight it.

I'll be here, in my branch of possibilities, writing my own ending.

Yours, Elise

June 10, 2024

To Me,

I'm starting to understand.

I thought I needed answers from someone else. I was waiting for Mom's approval, for Daniel's love to be enough, for Graham's validation of my work. I was waiting for a future version of myself to tell me what to do.

The truth is, it's always been within me.

I ended things with Daniel today. He didn't seem surprised. Perhaps he's been feeling the same distance I have.

I called Graham and accepted the position. The pay is terrible, the hours will be worse, but when he talked about my manuscript—about the story only I can tell—I felt something I haven't in years. Recognition.

It's time to make the choice. I'm ready.

No more letters after this one. No more looking for answers outside myself.

No more doubts.

Elise

June 15, 2028

Dear Past Me,

You won't receive this. I know that now. The connection between our timelines closed four years ago today. But I'm writing anyway, sitting at my desk at Graham & Sons, red pen in hand, reading someone else's dreams and helping shape them into reality.

You made the right choice.

Not because everything has been perfect. It hasn't. The apartment flooded last winter. Mom still doesn't understand why I chose "struggling editor" over "successful professional's wife." Some days I wonder if I made a mistake.

But then I look at my name on the spine of the book you began writing—our book—the one that finally emerged from that manuscript you were so unsure about. I feel the weight of it in my hands. I see the letters from readers who found themselves in our words.

I don't know if you can feel the echo of this letter across the branches of possibility. I don't know if some part of you senses that another version exists where you're writing rather than being written.

But I hope you do.

I hope you know that the voice guiding you was always your own.

With love and gratitude, Elise