Half Girl - Rewritten 

Hey you,

I know you.

Not the way strangers recognise a face,

but the way a soul remembers its own echo.

I’ve seen those eyes before.

The searching in them,

the quiet question they carry.

And the metal frames resting on your nose?

They suit you. I remember

It took us a long time to learn how to see.

I wonder if you’re still in the blur.

I had to live there for a while,

in the dim edges,

in the soft confusion,

in the nights where the light felt far away.

I had to let a little darkness in

before I understood

that the light was never -

Sometimes clarity is born

only after we stop fighting the shadow.

I feel like I’ve met you in another lifetime.

Maybe somewhere warm.

Mexico, perhaps.

An island.

I remember sunlight on your skin,

the way it lingered there

like it remembered you.

You have those freckles still,

little constellations across your face,

as if the sun took the time to sign its name.

You don’t look like someone who chases light.

You look like somewhere

the light returns.

Some people run toward brightness

hoping to be chosen.

Others carry it quietly,

even when they forget it’s there.

When I look at you,

I wonder

Did you have to earn that glow?

I don’t think you did.

You do seem a little unsteady.

I remember that feeling.

The late nights.

The long walks home,

not always sure where “home” really was.

But it isn’t spirts making you lost.

It’s just life,

moving faster than your footing.

You will find your way.

Again and again.

Friends will steady you.

Strangers will remind you.

Until one day you’ll map your coordinates

and see you were never far away.

You remind me of a therapy room.

Of quiet breakthroughs.

Of the mirror after a long cry.

Of the last moment that felt like coming home.

You remind me

that a life is not a single story.

It is drafts.

It is edits.

It is pages torn out,

and chapters written in the margins.

You can begin again

as many times as your heart needs.

And if, somehow,

this is you

ten years before me

I want you to know something sacred:

You are not behind.

Hold onto your softness.

You are not broken.

Protect your fire.

You are becoming.

Let yourself be seen,

And one day,

you’ll thank every prompt and character

for keeping the story riveting

Don’t worry about changing.

You will.

In between revisions

It is incredibly beautiful to be unfinished

Even more so to be unformed.

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