NEPHART.COM

Write a letter to your 100-year-old self.

Dear young man,

Congratulations.

You scored a century.

One hundred years on this spinning rock…

not bad for someone

who once told his friends

he wouldn’t make it past fifty-five.

I didn’t think you would reach this far either.

But here you are.

Still breathing.

Still watching the morning sun

crawl through the window.

Tell me…

are you still writing poems?

Do your old lovers still wander

through the corridors of your verses?

Some of them might be gone now.

But I know you…

you never really let anyone leave.

Maybe your great-grandchildren visit you.

Maybe they sit beside you

and ask about the world

when phones were smaller

and dreams were slower.

Do you still avoid mirrors?

I remember you once admired an Irish poet

who hated the sight of his own aging face.

Tell me…

what do you do these days?

Do you meditate?

Does it help quiet the ghosts

of the people you lost?

Or maybe some of them are still here…

sitting across from you

sharing a cup of tea

like old conspirators of time.

Time…

it must have moved quickly.

You probably paid the mortgage long ago.

I imagine the day you made the final payment

you walked back home

feeling lighter than air.

Did life reward you?

Did your poems win medals?

Did anyone stand up

and clap for your words?

Your teachers believed in you.

They carved patience into your bones.

Your parents…

they might not be here anymore.

But maybe you understand them now.

They raised you like a young plant,

watering you with effort,

placing you carefully

in the sunlight of love.

And now here you are…

a tree with many branches.

Still, I know something about you.

Even surrounded by love

loneliness sometimes sits quietly beside you.

That’s normal at one hundred.

Tell me something though…

Do you still ride a motorbike?

It wouldn’t surprise me

if the old man still rides

down some dusty road

with birds as companions.

You always loved the language of nature.

On the morning of your hundredth birthday…

did the sun greet you?

Did the birds sing your name?

Or did someone knock on the door

just to check

if you were still breathing?

I hope your eyes still work

and you’re reading this yourself.

And if someone is reading it for you…

please thank them.

They are helping a man

who spent his life chasing

honesty, kindness,

and a little bit of beauty

in a noisy world.

If a machine voice is reading this…

well… forgive the future.

It doesn’t always know

how to carry warmth.

Your room must be full of memories.

Old photographs.

Letters.

Half-forgotten songs.

Maybe some mornings

you cry a little.

Just enough

to lighten the heart.

You know this already but let me repeat it.

People come and go.

Life is a river.

You cannot ask the river

to stop flowing

just because you love the shore.

Tell me…

Do you still walk outside

to get your newspaper?

If you do…

you’re still a strong man.

What music do you listen to now?

Do the old songs

still echo inside your chest?

The world must be full of strange voices now.

Artificial ones.

But somewhere out there

I’m sure a few beautiful souls

are still singing.

And you…

you are only one hundred years young.

You’ve walked through many autumns,

many springs.

Flowers.

Bees.

Storms.

Mom used to say something about you.

She said no matter how old you become

there will always be a child

living inside your heart.

I believe that child is still there.

Running.

Laughing.

Asking questions.

So don’t think about dying now.

You are a living memory.

Any day could be the last…

but don’t leave this world crying.

Laugh.

Laugh loudly.

Challenge God a little.

Tell Him

you’re not done yet.

Learn new things.

Plant a flower today…

even if you think

you might die tomorrow.

Because when that flower blooms…

your breath

will still live inside its fragrance.

And please…

don’t forget your medicine.

Take care of yourself.

I hope you remember me.

I am your younger self…

still confused,

still hopeful,

still trying to understand life.

Waiting to become you.

With love,

Frain