Slowly I am thawing into a new me, the old me left behind.
I might miss her when she is gone.
That girl who suffered so much is a memory lost on a dusty shelf. An echo that lingers in every shadow of my being. She was my fake smile and empty laugh, the hiding and crying expert.
She was the reason for sabotage and distance. She knew the cost of closeness and refused to pay it. Vulnerability is a high price to pay whist broken. Her reflection always distorted to less than a shade, worth less than the meanest crumb.
Her name was fear and mines now hope.
I might miss her when she’s gone.