Dear Self,

I am sorry.

I am sorry for taking you for granted. The way I’ve underestimated your ability to make miracles happen, your hard work and all you’ve done to get us to a place where we could feel like we’re on the right track. I am sorry for constantly doubting you. For nitpicking shallow little things about you, things that I wished were better out of fear and insecurity. I am sorry for the days I’ve wished I was born into a different body, with a different face and a different smile. I am sorry for holding your weaknesses against you instead of forgiving you. I should’ve been loving you into becoming stronger instead of punishing you for not being enough.

I am sorry for constantly putting you in the arms of people who weren’t even reaching out for you to begin with. And then when they had you, they’d run their hands all over your body, into your chest. They’d touch you, but they’d never really feel you.

I am sorry for knowing better, but not doing better by you.

I am sorry for when I’ve told you to run when you should’ve stayed, and all the times I’ve convinced you to stay when you should’ve left.

I take responsibility for all of it. I take ownership of our pain, just as much as I take ownership of our happiness. I am choosing happiness for us. I am sorry it’s taken so long. I’m here now.

Love always,

B.