To the person I may never be again—
I know it hurts you, when you are currently. It still hurts me now, a bit. Your (my) trust was shattered, patched up, cracked, seemingly repaired, and then broken worse than ever before. You (I) didn’t deserve that.
It seems impossible, I realize, that you (I) may ever love again in the beautifully naive, full-bodied ways you (I) have in the past. But possibility is a powerful thing.
They say when someone who you thought you shared love with betrays you that the love came from you, and therefore is yours to keep; you need not question the validity of it. I don’t know if that’s true. I’d like it to be. I’m still working to see if it is. What I do know is that you (I) have been hurt, in a myriad of ways, in a short span of time. At times it feels the wounds can never heal because they were opened and reopened again and again, one on top of the other, in different and oh-so-painfully similar ways. They’ll leave a scar—I can feel that now, as I’m sure you can feel back then. But I hope, in spite of the sadness I still feel weighing on me and pulling me downward every now and again, the scar will one day just be a mark, the memories not so painful, and the future brighter than the past. Hope is a powerful thing.
You (I) are different, but the same; we’ve got the same good bones—strong and tall, the same good heart—kind and passionate, the same curious, thoughtful mind, and the same generous and indelible spirit. You—I—we are a powerful thing. And so, although it hurts and aches and wounds us to remember, to reflect, to wonder, know this: we have led our life following the inner compass that has never steered us wrong. Though that has not and will not absolve us of hardship, it does ensure that we are always stepping forward and becoming better. We are on the right path. Trust it, and yourself, and keep guiding by the goodness at the center of your being. We know who we are, and you & I are among those who can say that proudly. That is no accident.
With love, possibility, hope & all that we are,
The person I am now
P.S – Memories are a bit like letters, aren’t they? We send out the one with our hearts poured onto the page, and someone else keeps it. And you hold onto a piece of them, their words to keep. It’s very human.
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