I wouldn’t say I have once woken up happier or more full of this life since we put each other away. I wouldn’t say I have once felt as loved or have loved in any way that bears resemblance to even our lowest months. But I would take a stand that I have come into myself in the way that one does only after a great loss. I have spent what feels like years broken, salvaging, reassembling, falling apart, continuing, and so on until finally some version of old and new has stuck into the eyes, hands, and mind that speaks to you now.
And for what it’s worth, I wish this version of me could’ve cared for you. He is much kinder and sure of his need for others. Before, people to him were simply put… not essential to survival, and god, was he far from the truth. Knowing what I know now, even in the simplest truth that change will come—invited or not—and that, despite my best efforts, it will not leave empty-handed—even just that one fact, incomprehensible to my younger mind, would have allowed me to hold you with the protection and reassurance you always needed, but not with the tight, controlling hand that feared your growth and discovery of the world.
Forgive me for not being more, sooner.
All I can do now is find grace for you and all you are becoming and do my part to stand aside, as you have so clearly requested, until the day—if it arises—comes when you would like to see me again.