If I were to write a letter to myself,

To my past self,

Would it be a love letter

Or filled with my grievances?

How can I lose the weight of this being a eulogy? 

It could be a thank you, an apology,

A reassurance on how I am, how life is now, 

As if catching up since I last saw you. 

A hello, what would you think? 

I think that no matter what I write,

It would be the same message; 

I love you.

There are hundreds of letters I could write to you, 

Can’t mail to you. 

Maybe my whole life is a love letter to you,

A love letter to me.

—

I’m still learning how to think of you. 

How many ways can I perceive myself? 

I see you as me, my twin, as someone I once knew,

A chamber of vicarious memories. 

It still shocks me to see photos of you,

A stubborn reminder that we’ve always had this body. 

Was I with you the same way you’re part of me,

Or is it only now I can see how we’re tangled?

I haven’t killed you off,

Maybe just grown over. 

I consider you a sibling I grew up alongside,

Remembering things through your eyes. 

I find myself mourning the woman you could’ve become, 

Wondering what choices you may have made,

Whether we would be living similar lives now.

—

I have spent far too much time hating you. 

Blaming you for accepting the body we had been given, 

For not realising sooner. 

I now see there is no blame to lay,

No decision made too late. 

It is always the right time.

I saw your body as a vessel for survival

Made for more.

And so I carved myself from you. 

This body served you, and now it is serving me. 

This body is finally mine. 

I can’t resent the people that knew you

I love them for having loved who they saw, 

And now, me, too. 

Just look at how far we’ve come.