I remember you.

Not with nostalgia, but with reverence.

I remember the little girl who used to twirl in secret, imagining her wedding dress.

How she believed in true love before she ever heard of heartbreak.

How she would look at the sky and think the clouds had messages.

How she whispered dreams into the night and trusted the stars to keep them safe.

You were wild in the most beautiful way—

curious, soft, mischievous.

You didn’t just live—you glowed.

And the world felt like it was made for you.

I remember how you used to laugh at nothing and believe in everything.

Even now, I can still feel your little heart galloping with excitement,

believing—truly—that anything was possible.

I’m sorry I left.

I didn’t mean to.

Growing up felt like survival.

The world asked me to be smaller, quieter, tougher.

They told me magic wasn’t real, that dreams were too big,

that soft hearts get broken if they’re not careful.

So I tucked you away.

Not because I didn’t love you—

but because I didn’t know how to keep you safe in a world that didn’t understand you.

I watched you fade beneath expectations,

beneath the weight of being “realistic.”

And somewhere in the silence between us,

I began to miss you… deeply.

But I hear you now.

Clearer than ever.

I hear your laughter echo in my quiet moments.

I hear your wonder in the way I still stare too long at the moon.

I hear your sadness when I try to push too hard,

and your joy when I stop to play—even for a second.

You speak in feelings, in flashes, in dreams.

You are my whisper, my warmth, my reminder.

And I promise—this time—I will never shut you out again.

Your voice is not only welcome.

It is sacred.

You are safe in me now.

You don’t need to be afraid anymore.

I’ve grown strong—not in spite of you, but because of you.

I’ve become the woman who can hold you, protect you, and honor your softness.

I am the mother you needed.

The friend you longed for.

The arms that don’t ask you to be anything but yourself.

You can laugh again.

You can cry again.

You can dream again—without shame, without hiding.

This is your home now.

My heart is your home.

Our hope was never lost.

Even in the quiet, even in the dark.

Your light flickered, but it never went out.

I know that now.

You were waiting—patiently, tenderly—

for me to remember who we were.

And I have.

You were so brave.

My sweet girl, I see you now.

I see all the times you felt invisible.

All the nights you cried alone.

All the moments you wanted to speak but swallowed your voice to be “good.”

You were never weak.

You were radiant.

You were resilient in ways no one ever saw.

I want you to know I see it all now.

And I am in awe of you.

We are reunited.

Not just in memory—but in truth, in breath, in being.

We are walking side by side now—no more separation.

Your laughter lives in my voice.

Your wonder lives in my eyes.

And your dreams?

They live in my hands now, where I can protect and nurture them with care.

I promise to ask you how you feel.

I promise to give you rest when you’re tired.

I promise to let you dance, sing, create, and believe.

You are no longer alone.

You are no longer waiting.

You are my joy.

You always were.

You brought light into everything you touched.

You made even silence feel magical.

You are why I can still cry at sunsets.

You are why I still believe in soulmates, in signs, in sacred timing.

Thank you for not giving up on me.

Thank you for waiting with such grace.

Thank you for coming back.

Our story is turning now.

A new chapter has begun—written not in fear, but in faith.

You are not frozen in a past where you were forgotten.

You are blooming now, in the present where you are loved.

And this time, we’re not chasing love.

We are love.

We are the dream and the one who brings it to life.

We are whole.

Not perfect.

Not finished.

But whole.

Together, we are the full truth of who I am:

The wonder and the wisdom.

The child and the creator.

The spark and the storm.

You are not a memory.

You are the beginning.

And I am home—

because you are with me again.