My past self looked at me, confused,
"It's me," I said, "you from the future."
She stared, bewildered, "How can it be?"
"Well, I am," I replied softly,
"Are you the person I hope to be?"
"No," I said, as her eyes dimmed slightly.

"Are you kind?" she asked, voice trembling.
"No," I answered, my own heart dissembling.
"Do you have friends, a circle vast?"
"No," I replied, my voice overcast.
"Are you even alive?" she whispered low.
"No," I said, letting my own tears flow.

Her eyes softened, concern in her gaze,
"Why are you not kind, why don't you blaze?
Why are you not a good person, my dear?"
I just smiled, hiding my fear.
"I'm driven by circumstances," I explained,
She patted my cheek, her kindness unfeigned.

"It'll be fine," she said with a hopeful glow,
I smiled back, though I knew it wasn't so.
In that moment, two selves intertwined,
One seeking hope, the other resigned.
A silent promise, a wordless plea,
From my past self to the future me.