I can’t see a life after you—
with another man.

Even though there’s another boy,
he’s immature compared to me.
I think that’s what
the cards were trying to say.

And if I return
to this marriage with you,
the package will be complete again—
the church,
your family—

and most likely,
I won’t want any of it.
I’ll only want
you.

What if you’ve truly changed?
What if you’re really ready
to love me the way I deserve?

I miss you so, so, so—
so much
that it feels like a hole
is opening from my throat
down to my belly.

I almost wish I were pregnant—
an unforgivable excuse
to come back to you.

It feels like everything that’s happened
has been telling me
I should never have left.

And God?
And the church?
And our friends?

Ugh—
will you text me again?

Hi, beautiful—
how have these last days been?
I’ve been thinking of you,
you know?

I confess—
I’m a little lost.
I don’t know what I want from my life.

Today I see myself
in a profession that maybe
wasn’t what I truly wanted,
but what I chose
to avoid discomfort.
Now I’m left with frustration.

So I ask you—
what did you want to be
when you grew up?

I remember—
besides being a ballerina,
we used to write so much.
Whole stories.
Whole books.
Our imagination so vast
that today I’m still in awe.

Would you like
to write those stories again?

I will be completely open
to you,
to whatever you want to tell.

Let’s color the world
with our words.

With love,
Me.

Hi!
I’m so glad you reached out—
it’s been far too long
since we last spoke.

Yes, let’s watch the movie.
I love the idea!

It’s okay not to be okay right now—
we’ll get through this together.

Today,
we can take care of our feet
if we want to be ballerinas.
No one will stop us.

Write to me again soon.
I miss you.

P.S. I love you.

From: Me
To: My Inner Child

Hello, my dear.
How are you?
I hope you’re well—
because I am not.

You’ve always been here,
speaking to me,
showing me signs
I refused to see.

Now I see.
Now I want to keep you close again.

I’m in tears—
it’s been so long
since we last spoke.

I think I grew up
and left you behind,
abandoned
the way everyone else did.

I’m sorry.
Will you forgive me?

I’ve done so many wrong things
to you
and to myself—
things I’d never
do to a child
if I were truly responsible.

So tonight—
if you’re willing—
let’s spend time together.

Do you remember
first grade,
when every afternoon
you’d run to the ballet studio
just to watch the girls
in their pink tights,
gentle and graceful,
warming up for class—
and you’d stand at the door,
dreaming of being one of them?

I remember.

Our mother said
we could never be ballerinas—
our feet weren’t right,
our toenails always ingrown.

So what could we do?
Dance in secret,
alone in the bedroom,
with Barbie
and the Twelve Dancing Princesses.

So tonight—
will you dance with me?

Let’s be ballerinas for one night.
Let’s be what we always dreamed to be.

Will you take my hand
for this dance?

With love,
Me.

It feels so strange—
as if I’m out at sea.

No land in sight,
only blue waves
rolling back and forth.

Sometimes
they bring me calm.
Other times
they bring despair.

What do I do
with this conflicting feeling?

I want to go back home—
to safety,
to comfort.

But I also want to live,
to explore.

I want to be married,
to care for a home,
for a family.
I found meaning there.
I found purpose.

And who am I
without that skin?

Have I given
the other versions of me
a chance to appear?