I Forgot Who I Was

There was a time

I knew myself in fragments—

favorite songs,

inside jokes,

how I liked my coffee,

what made me cry

when no one was watching.

Then life got louder.

Work. Deadlines.

People asking for pieces

I didn’t realize I was giving away.

One day I looked in the mirror

and saw a stranger—

smiling politely,

nodding in all the right places,

saying “yes” to things

that chipped away at my ribs.

I forgot who I was.

Not all at once.

Bit by bit.

Until I couldn’t name

what made me feel alive.

But forgetting isn’t the same as losing.

I started walking at dusk again.

Started leaving my phone at home.

Started choosing what I liked

without asking if it was “right.”

I danced in my kitchen to songs

no one else listens to.

I read books

that didn’t teach me anything

but made me feel everything.

I stopped performing

and started breathing.

I’m not all the way back.

But I’m closer.

And that counts.

God, that counts.