i kept all my old clothes in a garbage bag for three years

the black hefty bag

sat in the corner

of my closet

for three years

two months

and sixteen days

but who's counting

right?

inside were the costumes

i wore to play

the person everyone thought i was

floral dresses that made my skin crawl

push-up bras that felt like armor

against my own body

high heels that clicked

like prison shackles

across hardwood floors

the bag grew heavier

not with weight

but with memory

every time i saw it

crumpled there

like a deflated balloon

from a party

i was never invited to

i told myself

i was keeping them

just in case

just in case i was wrong

about who i am

just in case this was a phase

just in case i needed to go back

to being palatable

acceptable

normal

but normal never fit me

like these clothes never fit me

the fabric always bunched wrong

in places that shouldn't exist

on the body i was building

piece by piece

day by day

breath by breath

my therapist asked me once

what's in the bag, alex?

and i laughed

because that felt easier

than crying

it's my old life

i said

like it was a joke

but we both knew

it wasn't funny

she asked if i wanted to talk about it

and i said no

because talking about it

meant acknowledging

that i was still afraid

of letting her go

the girl i used to be

or pretend to be

or was forced to be

depending on the day

and how charitable

i was feeling

toward my own trauma

the bag moved with me

three apartments

two cities

one breakdown

where i almost opened it

almost put on that blue dress

that everyone said

brought out my eyes

the eyes that never looked right

in the mirror

when i was performing femininity

like a one-person show

nobody asked for

but everyone expected

when i finally found you

and you saw me

really saw me

not the ghost in the garbage bag

but the person standing

in your kitchen

making coffee

in boxers and your old t-shirt

hair messy

face clean

no makeup

no performance

just me

you asked about the bag

only once

and when i told you

you nodded

like you understood

the weight of keeping

pieces of yourself

that don't fit anymore

but might be the only proof

you existed

before you knew

who you really were

last tuesday

on a day that felt

like any other day

i dragged the bag

to the donation center

the woman behind the counter

smiled and said

spring cleaning?

and i said

something like that

but really it was

autumn in my heart

finally letting leaves fall

that had been clinging

to dead branches

for years

i didn't look back

as i walked away

didn't feel the urge

to run back

and explain

that those clothes

held three years

of someone else's dreams

dreams that never belonged to me

but that i carried anyway

because i didn't know

i was allowed

to dream

my own dreams

that night

you found me

standing in our closet

looking at the empty space

where the bag used to be

and you asked

how does it feel?

lighter

i said

but also sad

because those clothes

were the last thing

connecting me

to the person

i thought i had to be

to be loved

you wrapped your arms

around me

from behind

and whispered

in my ear

i never loved her

i love you

alex

just you

and for the first time

in three years

two months

and sixteen days

the corner of our closet

felt like home

not a graveyard

for who i used to be

but a space

for who i'm becoming

every single day

the bag is gone

but the memory remains

not as a haunting

but as a reminder

of how far i've traveled

from the person

who thought

they had to keep

everything

just in case

now i know

letting go

doesn't mean

you never existed

it means

you finally have room

to breathe

to grow

to become

the person

you were always meant to be

underneath

all those layers

of other people's expectations

i am alex

i have always been alex

and that bag

was never really mine

to carry