You told me you’d love me,
or, I told myself that when I became you,
you would still love me.
All of my dreams,
how I want to sail across the seas,
build castles in the trees.
I told myself of love, so then where are the palaces we pledged,
the pictures of the oceans you promised to cross?
You told me you would love me, I remember;
so was I not good enough for you,
that you chose otherwise?
You gave up on the ocean
to climb a mountain instead,
is my ocean dream not enough for you?
Made up a different face in the mirror.
Did you dislike mine?
Was my smile so wrong, you couldn’t stand it so much,
that you had to change it?
Did you not want to be me anymore?
Future me, what’s wrong with who I am, that you had to go and change me?
Dear past self: a part of me acknowledges that you were a performance,
a mask put on because you feared what you were inside, feared nobody could love what you were inside.
But I never hated you, there was never anything wrong with you, surviving how you did.
You dreamt about an ocean, because you wanted to cross it and get away from all this.
You dreamt about castles, because they could keep you protected.
But we don’t need those anymore–protection, running away.
I have found a kind of freedom you always chased.
Dear past me: I am still you, but not.
You are me, but not.
This may feel like a betrayal, but if I didn’t change, didn’t grow,
I would not be alive.
To not change, is to not live,
and the crux of it is,
what we most want for each other is to live–
wild, defiant, quiet, careful, soft.
I do love you,
I would not be here without you.
Please believe, I do love you
from the dreams of the trees
from the mirrors
to the sunsets fading over the water.
Dear past self: we make it, living,
and I love you for getting us here.
If you enjoyed this, check out my buy me a pizza page for more!
(this post was inspired in part by Jessie Gender on youtube)