I’d hoped we’d meet one day.
One day when I was grown and you had matured.
I hoped that we’d look at each other and recognize one another in our older, slightly tormented selves.
I really thought that the only person who could see the younger, kinder me, would be you.
People don’t know who I was, how long I kept up the ruse that I’m a decent person.
I just desperately wanted someone who saw me for both a “good” and broken - me.
