"the lil me I left behind" 1/3

Do you miss me? Do you miss the kind soul I used to be, the laugh that came easy, the open hands? Do you miss the smile you used to see — those eyes brighter than the night’s first star, the hair that fell like a quiet curtain over our small world? Do you miss the mornings we chased sunrise down little roads, barefoot on cold pavement, hearts full of small rebellions? Do you miss the little one who trusted the world, who believed in promises like they were bread? Do you miss the me you left behind? You said you’d protect me, keep my hand, never let go. You promised to grow different, kinder, truer — to be better than the shadows we both knew. You made me believe. You gave me hope. Why — why did you let the promises burn? I hear you. I always heard you, even when I didn’t answer. Sometimes the world taught me new languages: fear, compromise, silence. I folded myself thin to survive, and in that folding I forgot how to hold you open. I miss you like an ache behind the ribs. I miss your trust — bright and simple as morning — and the way you loved without measuring the cost. I am sorry for the cigarettes I picked up like bad habits, for the small betrayals that stacked between us and became a wall.