The Person I Was Is Still In Here Somewhere

There’s a photo on my shelf.

Old. Faded.

I stare at it sometimes longer than I probably should.

It’s me. But not really.

It’s someone I used to be.

Before I learned how it feels to lose things I thought were permanent. Before I understood that time isn’t just passing—it’s taking pieces of us with it. Quietly. One by one.

I used to smile differently.

You can see it in that photo.

Back then, my eyes still believed that some things lasted forever.

That version of me — she didn’t know.

She didn’t know that one day she’d sit on the edge of her bed, staring at her hands, wondering when they started looking like her mother’s.

Or that she’d one day miss the very things she once took for granted:

The smell of home,

The weight of someone’s hand on her shoulder,

The quiet security of knowing someone would always be there, just in the next room.

I’ve grown up.

Slowly, like dust settling in sunlight.

And all this time, you’ve still looked at me the same way.

Even when I’ve been moody, distant, distracted by life’s noise,

You’ve loved me like I was still five years old and running to you because I couldn’t sleep.

And now, when I lay awake at night,

I wish I could run back again.

Not to escape—just to rest in that feeling.

That warmth. That unconditional safety.

You always said, “One day you’ll understand.”

And now I do.

Now I know what it means to see with your heart.

Now I understand that life isn’t about the big things — it’s the quiet ones.

The way someone says your name like it matters.

The way a hug can break you open and put you back together.

Sometimes, I still get it wrong.

Even the heart gets it wrong.

I’ve trusted people who weren’t safe.

I’ve stayed where I should have run.

I’ve hurt, and I’ve been hurt.

But through it all — you were my anchor.

Even when we were oceans apart, I could feel you.

I still can.

And I hope I always will.

Because the truth is… I don’t know who I’d be without you.

I don’t know if I’d be anything at all.

And I know —

Everything ends. Everyone eventually says goodbye.

We leave rooms, we leave cities, we leave people.

But I need to believe…

That you’ll never really leave me.

I need to believe that in every version of my life —

Every one I get —

You’ll find your way to me.

Maybe as a stranger who offers me a kind smile on a hard day,

Maybe as a memory that catches me off guard but makes me feel safe again,

Maybe as a child of my own, who unknowingly carries your spirit in their laugh.

So, I’m asking, if there’s something—anything—listening out there…

Please let it be this way.

Please let me keep you, somehow.

Even if it’s just in dreams.

Wrap me up again like you used to.

Let me fall asleep knowing I am loved.

Let me rest in the truth that even if the world doesn’t make sense—

Your love always has.

It always will.

Because no matter how old I get,

How far I go,

How many layers I add to hide the cracks—

I’m still her.

I’m still that girl who just wants to be held and told,

“It’s okay. I’m here.”

Please…

Always be here.

Because I don’t know how to be me

Without you.

P.S.

If you’ve ever looked at an old photo and felt a lump in your throat, you’re not alone. Sometimes, the hardest part of growing up isn’t the change itself—it’s realising how much love we were wrapped in without even knowing it. If this story touched something in you, I’d love to hear it. Your memories matter too.