You Left, Then Came Back, and Love Took Root

A short story I wrote for myself. I used other people’s real stories as a starting point, then slowly peeled back the layers to uncover the knots buried deep in my own heart: a lifetime of doubting myself, rejecting myself, and finally accepting myself. Again and again, I listen to another version of me tell my own story back to me. One self tells it tirelessly, while the other is drawn into the space of memory and listens, immersed. I enjoy recording my story in writing, and listening to it makes the dull hours more interesting. Accepting imperfection means not chasing perfection, and that turns out to be another kind of perfection.