Hey. You up?

I’m here. You look well. Healthy…happy?

I manage.

I wanted to talk.

Oh? It’s certainly been a while…what troubles you?

20 years…it’s flown by and I try not to remember but…around this time of year…the-

-triggers?

Triggers…

Well, you look great! I mean you’re older. Defined, rounded, but same.

I grew.

You did…I guess it was inevitable, we’d have this talk. About how I left-

-It didn’t have to end that way.

It didn’t, but you wanted me to leave so badly. I didn’t think you wanted me around. You seemed like you want me to get lost. You were always fascinated with ridding me, so when it actually happened...I was gone, likethat in a flash.

I did not know what I wanted. I was confused. Depressed.

But you wasted little time…

Time had no meaning then. It was a luxury. It moved so slowly. Everything took forever.

And now?

It’s precious, precarious even. It goes by quickly. So quickly in fact I miss chunks of it. I blocked out the time after you left. Up to about two years. Now that I’m older — I’m starting to do that thing, y’know, that thing where I pretend events didn’t happen. I don’t believe what people say when they recall moments I don’t remember, I screw up names of movies…add an ‘S’ to words. There’s never enough time in a day. But I can’t really complain. I work for myself. I make good money. Could always make more. I have this amazing podcast. I’m writing more, I’m more thoughtful, more compassionate. I am building the platform I’ve always wanted, my voice is not so much louder — it’s just more direct. I don’t have many regrets.

But then…

Except this. I mean…I tried to write to you before. A decade ago.

Wynter, why do you miss me? You didn’t seem at all interested in having me around.

I didn’t know that I would miss you as much as I do now, but I have to admit, I just do. You just left me with all this baggage. Like pouches inside of purses inside of backpacks inside of luggage inside of trunks of baggage.

Oh, golly I don’t know what to say, my dear. Admittedly, we were so close, but I had no choice. Do you really think I had options? Your brain, your arms, your legs. Your body. Your mind. I was just, there.

But you hang around like a ghost. The what-if’s, the I wish it hadn’t happened “that way”…it never stops! My head, my head. Everything. Every guy, every touch, every glance, every grimace. Reminders. I reject. I ignore. I deny. “Innocence” was a great cover for it all.

It will stop one day. This I know.

I doubt that.

Let’s change the subject.

So tell me about the guy…

What guy? There’s no guy. There never really is… “a guy” per se

Ok, there’s one. But…it’s complicated. And so typical —is this my “type”, the works in progress?

You're being guarded. He’s being stubborn. It’ll never work. Be vulnerable or move on. Your mind is open, your heart is a force field.

I love him. I miss him. I keep him arm’s length. But I love LOVE. It’s too much to discuss here. This is about us. Anyway, no matter — there’s been quite a few…

OK, well, then not that guarded I guess. You are still so closed off in your heart. I thought you’d get over that eventually. But I figured as much.

You’re rude…

Look who suddenly rejects authenticity! Miss Know Everything Thrice. I’m honest. Let me ask: do you know love?

I know myself. I believe that is love. I love my family, my friends. I’ve been in love once, but I don’t know anymore what that was. I put my energy into things, places, moments.

That’s all well and nice. But holding on to me wouldn’t have changed anything, you wouldn’t have become a Rhodes Scholar, you hated school.

You’re right

And you wouldn’t have become some loose woman because you’re too particular about it all. You are strong-willed.

Right again. A mother?

Seems too fussy for you. You hate early mornings…I never saw it.

A wife?

Dutiful, sure. Domestic, perhaps. You love a hospital corner, a fresh-scrubbed commode, a new appliance. Adoring, you can give a compliment (need to work on taking one) Devoted. Only if you convinced yourself he’d do the same. You’re not some cavewoman. Love will come when its right.

Wait why are you crying?

…because it’s been so many years and I remember every single moment. It still hurts. Even when I think it’s over — today happens and —

-It’s supposed to…

Don’t be fresh

You know what I mean. It didn’t have to be that way.

It didn’t.

It wasn’t your fault. You were curious, he was an adult. He knew better. You were a victim, you are not a victim.

I found him online. I wanted to write him a letter.

Why?

Because I wanted him to know my spirit has not been broken, just my innocence. That I am a fighter.

You don’t owe him anything else. I don’t believe he carries me around like a badge of honor. He’s ashamed of himself. He’s an unhappy miserable fuck. He took advantage of a lonely young girl.

I still carry shame.

Don’t be. Look at you.

Who am I?

The same girl, but more sure of her power. You make me proud, you always have. Now you’re so much happier, self-sufficient and independent. You make people uncomfortable in your acceptance of yourself, it’s wonderful. Always the rebel. You would sit in your room reading, writing, crying and listening to the saddest songs. You were on the pulse of everything but didn’t wave it like a flag. Being cool wasn’t important to you. Being trendy wasn’t a big deal. You were advanced. But you would carry sadness in your eyelids, you would put anxiety in your pocket they’d hang there like rocks, weighing you down. Everyone was too superficial to notice. On the surface, you seemed just fine. You protected your body, suffocating in jeans and oversized t-shirts, hoodies to cover your bosom, caterpillars for eyebrows. You half-smiled and laughed loudly when no one was looking. You weren’t given a chance. You have fought for all your chances. He tried to steal your spark, now you explode.

I work hard.

You’re resilient. You take blows, kicks, and punches and deflect. You fart sprinkles when you’re at your limit. You give anyone the hand that fucks with you. Yet kindness makes you cry, other people’s children make you laugh, you’re still wild…you’re still curious. You want more of life even when it rains lemons. I dig that about you. You care about those closest to you deeply. You really don’t suffer fools.

I think I do it because I wish we had more time together. I think I do it because I know of time’s limit. I think I do it to forget. I think I know how precious life can be.

Forget what could have been? And then what? Did you want those awkward college years? That wasn’t your style. Prom night? You don’t like dresses and fuss over appearances. Making him wait 10 dates? Listen, you’re not Katherine Heigl in a rom-com. You wanted me to go so you could get to the next part. There is no next part, honey. There’s a series of moments tied by instance and intention. I wasn’t long for your world. I’m OK with being dismissed.

W-w-wait, how do you know who Katherine Heigl is?

I know everything I’m still you, duh.

Right.

I wasn’t going to be around much longer than 15 years, I knew my time was fleeting, ephemeral. You were always so engaged and attuned. You just had to know, what you were feeling — all the time. I’m sorry it wasn’t the way you’d envisioned. No one wants to lose me that way.

Does that make me weird? That I need your approval? Your acceptance?

It makes you, you. You’re enough you know? Even with me long gone and missing. Geez, I didn’t know you’d still be such a sap though. The tears!

Only in moments of deep introspection am I like this when it comes to you. Only on July 14th.

You were always good for that, you are a deep blue ocean of thought. Ebbing, flowing, swelling, tides of thoughts, emotion and ideas roll in, the tide rolls out. Moonlight makes you howl. Calm breezes make you sparkle and glisten.

20 years though.

Two zero.

Do you think I’ll feel whole someday?

You will. I was a sacrifice — but not some final curtain call on your womanhood. You’re rough around the edges but so dainty about things. You’re so layered. I was going to be discarded eventually, I knew from the moment we met this was our journey, you didn’t.

I just wanted us to reconnect.

We connect a lot. I think disconnecting would be better. I’ve been gone for a while, dude. You’re 35, and technically I don’t exist.

You know how hard it is for me to let things go…

I’m the past. You are a grown up. A woman. You have grown woman thoughts, and decisions and responsibilities. You don’t need me. You haven’t done anything I wouldn’t expect you’d do. You do treat yourself better than I expected you would but still very rough and tumble on your soul. Release. Give yourself a break. Do love and protect yourself, do continue to stand up for yourself.

Your apartment is a lot more disorganized than I thought it would be. I hate that you smoke. But you haven’t changed. Still well-traveled, well-read, highly regarded, what’s there to worry so much about?

You are me.

I am you.

You did nothing wrong.

I know.

You were just a kid.

I know.

You did the best you could given the circumstance.

I tried. Lord knows.

You’re a woman. You are phenomenal.

I need to moveon.org

You don’t need to be a hero to anyone but yourself. Enjoy this Wynter. Enjoy this life. Rid these demons so you can thoroughly enjoy these moments. If it’s time you’re concerned about, I wouldn’t waste it worrying about little ol’ me.

From now on, try and enjoy this day. Every July 14th is more freedom. You survived. You’re a survivor.

I’m a survivor.

Same time next year?

Sure.

With less tears? Less triggers?

Of course.

More love?

Absolutely.