I met myself from two years ago
She arrived a few minutes early.
I sat down with tears already waiting,because beside her
I’ve been missing more than words allow.
He looked like such a happy boy.
A little younger than I last saw him, and a little bit stronger too.
still carrying the kind of joy
that doesn’t know how fragile it is yet.
She asks me what’s wrong.
I shake my head and tell her it’s nothing,
even as my chest tightens,
even as I look into the eyes
who once held my whole world together.
I asked if I could hug him,
but I didn’t wait for her answer.
I wrapped my arms around him
With all of my might, like love that never forgot how to return.
As if I was an old friend
he once couldn’t live without.
I asked if she wanted me to order anything.
She hesitated, shy at first,
Then she looked down at her dog,
and I watched the confidence rise in her chest
the way it always did when he was near.
“Strawberry and cream frostino please,” she said,
“with extra strawberries.”
She talked about how hard it was
trying to become someone.
that still felt so far away.
the hardest part isn’t becoming someone.
I don’t tell her that yet.
She tells me she’s struggling at placement,
that some days feel too heavy,
that she wonders if she’ll ever make it through.
I tell her all the ways her dog will carry her.
How he’ll sit beside her while she studies.
How he’ll let her practice when she doubts herself.
How he’ll ground her on the days
she feels like giving up.
She smiles and tells me how amazing he is.
“How am I supposed to make it,” she asks,
“when she makes me feel like I don’t belong?”
grief flickering behind my own,
That she mustn’t give up.
That she hasn’t met her people yet-
I tell her there will be someone
who that will make it even harder than it ever needed to be.
Someone who sharpens her doubts, instead of easing them.
Someone who makes her question
She nods before I finish speaking.
She already knows who I'm talking about.
I tell her this isn’t where the story ends.
That one day she finds a practice
that feels like breathing out.
A place where she is taught,
not belittled and made to feel small.
Then she looks at her dog again, flickering between both of us. The look and feeling I know all to well. I know for sure what she's going to ask next.
"Is he going to make it to the end with me?"
I hesitate, but eventually with a crack in my voice, I say he doesn’t make it until the very end-
but that he makes everything else possible.
That he is the reason she keeps going
when she thinks she can’t.
That every skill she learns,
he is there for all of it.
Fear slipping in between the hope.
I can tell she doesn't care about her dream anymore.
She tells me she doesn’t think she’ll survive it
I tell her I’m still here.
She asks me when it happens.
Because he will do the telling himself.
And nothing, ever truly prepares you.
Our drinks are almost gone.
and lets Dexter lick the inside,
His tongue scraping every last drop.
between two versions of the same love.
She leaves with her future intact.
And I stay seated a moment longer,
because I never want to let him go-
even though I already have.
