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My honest hope is that you don’t hold me to the standards of the past. I was such a child when you met me, afraid of my own shadow.

Before I go into everything, I need to thank you. You carried me through the darkest time of my life, and it was only your bright light and steady arms that kept me going. 

Do you remember the girl I was before the high tide swept me up? Standing barefoot in the elevator, asking for help in broken English. Can you recall what came after, that violent wave that washed over my fragile body and threw me into the open?

My heart still shrinks when I think of that terror—the sleepless nights, the feeling of drowning and burning all at once, sinking with nothing to hold onto. There was nothing around me but you—you, my lifeline. Night after night, you kept me afloat, doing everything but breathing for me. For the longest time—days stretching into months—you steadied me, soothed me. With strong strokes, you swam for us both, breaking through wave after wave, always holding your breath just so I could draw mine. In the middle of my chaos, you were the calm. Somehow, you found land and carried us both toward it.

I still remember the first moment my feet touched something solid instead of cold emptiness—how I could barely stand, still gripping tightly onto your shirt. And when I finally found my balance, I looked up and a different kind of terror took hold. Yes, I was standing, but not on the same shores I had known before the tide pulled me under. There was nothing familiar in sight, not a single stone or tree that resembled what I once knew. I had been brought somewhere else entirely—a wild shore, bordering an even wilder forest. Unknown land. Uncharted territory.

Should we have settled there? Shouldn’t your presence have been enough? The blue of your eyes, the soft hum of your voice as you made coffee in the morning?

And I fought, you know? I planted my feet deep in the sand, trying to root myself right by your side. But the waves kept drawing near, and with each passing, my feet loosened, turning me toward that forest. You see, there was something there for me. I heard its calling—soft at first, like a breeze. But the more I ignored it, the louder it grew, until it rattled the leaves and scratched at my eardrums. And one day, I found myself at the tree line, and the only possible move, the only allowed move, was to go in.

As I wandered deeper into those woods, new paths began to form beneath my feet, and very few led back to you. And I tried, my love, I tried to trace them back. I left pieces of myself behind, hoping they would mark my way to our meeting place on the shore—to you. But something else happened. What I left behind turned out to be things I no longer needed. Don’t misunderstand me—I never meant to abandon parts of myself destined to die. At the time, I thought I was leaving behind the very best of me. Alas, it turned out the best of me was no good. How did you love something so flawed? Where did you find the grace?

Until one day, the trees and shadows closed in around me, and I knew, then and there, that I had lost my way back to you, and that the only way left was forward.

Believe me when I say I did not know how to say goodbye. Wisdom and courage had yet to come. I left like a coward, like a thief who stole from the goodness of your heart and dissolved into the night. I remember running from you as if it were yesterday. I did not have it in me to look back. I ran with my eyes closed, and in doing so, I lost myself for years. I lost my way, almost lost my mind.

When I finally opened my eyes, I was alone again, slipping into depths much like the ones you once saved me from. But in that paralyzing fear, I remembered your steadiness, your faith in me. And for the first time in my life, I swam. I fought fiercely—with tears in my eyes, muscles knotted, teeth clenched. And I made it out. Out into the open. Out of the woods.

I am anew, though I carry the scars of the old. It is from this newly claimed ground that I write to you. The girl you last saw on that shore all those years ago—she is not the woman writing these words now. But she is not gone either. She still lives within me, just quieter now, seated behind many other versions of myself who have stepped aside so I could finally take the lead.

I loved you in a way I did not yet understand. Our relationship held the promise of a lifetime—of shared burdens, of companionship. Yet who was I? I myself was also dormant potential, soft clay, cracked and fragile, barely able to hold my own shape. How could I have carried the weight of the love we were meant to share?

Back then, I clung to you. I remember my grip ripping through your skin. How it must have hurt, how it must have torn at you, and yet you never flinched. I will always wonder how you carried both our weights, yours alive and moving, mine just dead.

We may never stand on the same shore again. But I want you to know you formed and transformed me. Your love reformed me. You were one of the greatest stories of my life, a glorious chapter, love in all states of aggregation.

I pray you live fully, love deeply, and laugh often. I hope you experience the world in all its intensity. And if we are ever meant to meet again, I will be grateful, yet fearful of your just wrath or apathy. But if not, know this—

I carry you in my heart. Always.