You and I…
we’ve had a complicated relationship.

For years, I tried to ignore you,
reshape you,
deny you,
pray you into something else.
I called you broken.
I called you a mistake.
I treated you like a costume I had to wear to survive.

And yet—
you stayed.

You carried me through the days when I didn’t want to live.
You held every sob I swallowed.
You endured hands that never should have touched you.
You bore shame that was never yours to carry.

And still—
you stayed.

You waited.
Patient.
Wounded.
Alive.

You kept breathing,
even when I begged you to stop.
You kept showing up,
even when I tried to disappear.
You kept whispering,
I’m still here. I’m still yours.

I’m sorry for all the ways I’ve abandoned you.
For all the years I believed the lies they told me—
that you weren’t enough,
that you were wrong,
that your sacredness depended on someone else’s approval.

You are not wrong.
You are not shameful.
You are not a thing to be fixed.

You are the temple,
the canvas,
the vessel of this holy, ordinary life I’m still learning to love.

And now—
now I’m coming home to you.

Not all at once.
Not without fear.
But with tenderness.
With awe.

You are still sacred.
Still beautiful.
Still mine.

And I will spend the rest of my life
learning how to live inside you with love.

Thank you
for waiting.

Love, Me