An hour of my life was lost in the annals of my teenage self. There are a few things I would like to say to her.
Sixteen-year-old self, chill. In a year you will be kissed by a boy for the first time and it will be unremarkable. It certainly will not be self-fulfilling or anything like when Joe Fiennes and Gwyneth Paltrow kiss in Shakespeare in Love, mustache notwithstanding.
Hellishness is a stupid word.
Your first boyfriend will be a douche. Thank you for not sleeping with him, or even entertaining the idea. And when you think it’s a good idea to wear your vintage boy’s button down shirt to the park, please remember to do up all of the buttons again, and properly, before he drops you off at home.
In three years you will meet the man you are going to marry. You are not looking to date anyone at the time, but you make an exception. The very best.
He is a remarkable kisser.
Return of the Girl 
If only our sixteen-year-old self’s could actually get the message, sigh.
Part of their charm is that the never listened… right?
YES! If only the USPS delivered there.
– Mel
I bet the Gallifrey Postal Service would. If it still existed.
Just, happy.
For you, this ❤