Return to Sender

She knew she wanted out. She knew she needed out. At one point, she lost count of how many times she had tried and failed. Thinking back to that time… to the version of herself that had lived through it, it felt like looking at someone else. Someone that looked like her, but definitely wasn't her. This part of her past was bottled up, on a shelf in her mind somewhere. It would never leave, but it was in a sealed bottle, and the memories would never hurt her again. Just sometimes, when something disturbed the bottle, the contents moved and floated around a bit, reminding her of its existence.

Looking at her makes me want to grab her by the shoulders and shake her—just shake her—until she wakes up, opens her eyes, and takes action. Only to realize a second later that she wouldn’t. That she had been shaken repeatedly by the people who loved her, truly loved her, and it hadn’t brought her out of this trance.

After what felt like an eternity, the sky cleared, and the sun shone brightly. The light hurt her eyes a little, as she had been living in the shadows for so long. It felt safe, in a way—it was familiar, something she had grown used to. Even though life in the shadows had been cold, depressing, and belittling, she knew how to navigate it. Waking up to a clear sky and sunlight had been her dream for as long as she could remember, but now that it was finally here... it felt frightening.

It was as though breathing in the fresh air and basking in the sunlight was a crime she needed to apologize for. So, she took pen and paper and poured her heart out, writing an apology she thought would somehow free her. Still thinking she was the one in the wrong, that she was the one responsible, that she needed to apologize to him...

"Forgive me for everything I've done. Forgive me for all the times I hurt you. Forgive me for every moment I wasn't there when you needed me. Forgive me for the harsh words and the fights we had. Forgive me for all the times I pushed you away and didn’t hold you when you needed me to. Forgive me for not trying hard enough, for being weak, and for giving up. Forgive me for making you feel bad. Forgive me for being selfish and leaving you stranded. Forgive me for walking away when I should have been standing beside you. Forgive me for not letting you be alone when you needed it. Forgive me for all the pain you had to feel because of me. Forgive me for breaking something we fought so hard for. Forgive me for not saying 'I love you' enough. Forgive me for running away instead of facing the issues. Forgive me for my tears. Forgive me for all the mistakes I’ve made.

You are my heart, and I love you with all that I am. I hope you find someone who never has to apologize for things like this—someone who deserves a second chance, but will never need it. Forgive me for not being the one you needed."

***

I woke up this morning with the strangest feeling in my chest. It was a mix of excitement and a bit of anxiety, like a confusing tickle all at once. I quickly combed through my thoughts and plans for the day but failed to find a reason for this sensation.

Soon after my morning run, I tackled the impossible, long-postponed task of cleaning out my closet. And there it was—sitting at the bottom, waiting for me to find it. The letter. Folded exactly as I remembered it from three years ago. I quickly checked the calendar—three years ago, to the date. My heart pounded as I unfolded the paper and read the words again. And it struck me like lightning—these words weren't for him; they were for me...

I took the paper and went to my favorite spot in the living room—a large, soft armchair in the corner, surrounded by windows on two walls. What made the chair special was its incredibly strategic placement. No matter the time of day, the sun shone on it, making me feel safe. Starting with the left window at sunrise, all the way through to sunset, when the last golden rays made their way through the window on the right.

I took a seat, crossed my legs, and closed my eyes. I hadn’t really thought about that letter in a long time—not like this. In the quiet, I let my thoughts unravel, reaching back to the girl who had written it. Ant then I saw her—small, lost in a world that had felt too heavy to escape from.

The words she had written had seemed so necessary back then, like the only way out: to make sense of everything—taking the blame for things that were never her fault, offering an answer instead of righteously demanding one herself, finding a reason, as if she had to give one.

Until now, I had been avoiding the dusty bottle in the darkest corner of my mind, containing my personal nightmare. Today, I looked directly at it. I looked directly into the eyes of a girl sitting at the bottom, her arms wrapped around her knees, surrounded by all the terrible words that had been said to her, the gaslighting, the broken pieces of her shattered confidence, and large clumps of self-doubt, weighing her down with guilt, as if the mistakes had been hers to own. It all hovered around her, keeping her in the chilly, dusty shadows, afraid to look up. Had I not known who she was, I wouldn’t have recognized her. I wouldn’t have recognized myself.

I looked at her, and didn’t feel the need to shake her anymore. I just wanted to hug her and tell her, "It’s all going to be okay." And it seemed like she—like I—had known this on some level for a long time.

I took the letter and held it up so she could see it. She didn’t have to say anything for me to know that she understood exactly what it was. Only after I said, 'Thank you. Of course, I forgive you,' did she look directly at me, a confused expression on her face. I waited patiently for her to process my words.

In that moment, I saw her expression clear, settling as she understood what I meant. She realized she wasn’t writing to him anymore. She wasn’t asking for forgiveness from someone who could never truly give it. She was asking herself—for permission to move forward. For permission to let go. I saw it all come back to her, including the fact that she hadn’t left the note in the shadows, but had carried it with her all along. I looked at her, and I saw every word from that paper in her eyes, asking for forgiveness.

I smiled and repeated the words I had already said, into the quiet of my living room, as if saying them aloud made it more real: „Of course, I forgive you, my darling.”

I took the bottle and opened it. As the seal broke, everything that had once hovered around her dissolved—vanished into nothing. I held her close, enveloping her in warmth, and together, we cried, we laughed—because, in that moment, everything was finally as it should be.

As I came out of the meditation, I opened my eyes and felt tears on my warm, sun-kissed cheeks. I smiled a slow, quiet smile, folded the letter back up, and wrote on the backside of it: "From me, to me: an apology, a love letter." Then, I placed it in the shoebox with the other pieces of my past. As I put the lid on the shoebox, a chapter of my life closed. I smiled, feeling a quiet anticipation for whatever came next, knowing I was no longer carrying the ghosts of yesterday.