Old Friend, I was afraid to see you again. Desperate and anxious and excited and overwhelmed and buoyant with joy and terrified to see you. Because the person I was, the last time I saw you, was broken. Because I was trapped in a bad place and my escape attempt was foiled by a woman who finally opened her eyes at exactly the
wrong right time. Like an animal, I clawed and hid and hurt people. I went to ground and stayed there with my books and pens and things. I sent a hologram, a desert spectre mirage of me, out into the world to do the things I was supposed to be doing while the rest of me, the human me, stayed in the dark and healed.
I was afraid that the dark, still bearing the depth of my injury, would come with you, somehow. I was afraid that we would open the door on memories I had so carefully packed in the cellar. Dealt with. Moved past. Exorcised and imprisoned. Do you see? I wanted so much to see you again, but I was also so very afraid.
So when I saw you, and I couldn’t breathe, and the tears came, and the joy was there, mostly what I felt was gratitude. I remembered so clearly for the first time in too long the girls we used to be before things got bad. It was so wonderful to open that door, today. And see the girl you used to be in the amazing woman you’ve become, and how she still laughs in your eyes. It was so wonderful to see you again and remember together the part that was good.
You traveled in the world and I traveled in my mind and both of us came back whole.
I am so grateful.