When I Met My 15-Year-Old Self

 I slid the curtain. She was standing outside the window. 

It took me a minute to recognize her—those curious, restless eyes.

How could I forget her? A fifteen-year-old with extremely expressive eyes, a girl who believed in idealism in everything.

She looked at me, curious, almost suspicious.
“Who are you?” she asked.

I smiled, with tears in my eyes.
“I am you… Twenty-two years later.”

She laughed. “That’s impossible.”

“Not really,” I said softly. “You and I are just separated by time.”

She kept looking at me for several minutes, quiet, questioning eyes, as if she couldn’t believe that I could be her. 

She had never thought she would turn out to be like me after 22 years. 

She studied me carefully, searching for something. She expected to find something, perhaps greatness, perhaps perfection, perhaps a life that proved all her dreams had come true.

But what she saw was indeed different; her talking eyes couldn’t tell me what she was thinking.

“You look strong,” she said slowly, “but not in the way I imagined.”

“Did we make the difference we thought?” she asked, her voice full of hope.

“No,” I said gently, “not the way we thought.”

Her face fell slightly.

She leaned closer.
“Did we at least become successful?”

I paused.

“I fought many battles,” I replied. “But I didn’t win all of them.”

Her face changed.
There was fear now, the same fear she had always carried but never admitted.

“I was always scared of failing,” she whispered.

“I know,” I said. “And the truth is… we did fail. More than once.”

She looked down, as if something inside her had cracked.

“But listen,” I added gently, “those failures didn’t destroy us. They shaped us. The scars are still there… but so is the strength.”

She looked at me again, deeper this time.

She looked at me as if she knew everything we had lost along the way.

And for the first time,
Her eyes weren’t full of dreams.

They were full of understanding, yet still curious-curious to know why I wasn't the person she imagined.

What had happened in those 22 years? What had shaped me into this? Why was I so calm, even though I hadn't become the person she thought I would be?

"So tell me what happened to us?" She asked gently, a quiet patience in her voice that hadn't been there before, as if she wanted to hear the story without judgment.

Holding Her Inside Me

In the Hope of Being Heard