The ‘me’s I have been were all not so hard to handle, except that since they didn’t come with a manual, no one tried to understand how to. Perhaps I still am a strange creature to some. A mystery whose answer lies right at their fingertips.
I have owned and nurtured a vast variety of ‘me’s under the same skin I wear today. The ones which were vibrant and brimming with life. The ones with empty eyes. The ones whose hearts sang, the ones who wanted to touch the sky, and the ones who lumbered in the shadows. All my pasts, and all pieces of my present.
To all the ‘me’s I’ve been before, I love you. All those bruises you gave me, I tried to wear them the way the other girls wear makeup. I squirm at the stupid things you did, the terrible things you said, and I laugh at how the ugliness of your persons make you all the more beautiful. And I mourn at the fact that I can never go back, I can’t sail away into the easier world you lived in.
I dream of the lives of the ‘me’s I left behind, and I recoil at the same thought sometimes. To all the ‘me’s I was before, I don’t love you all the time, through all things, but I would never trade anything for the messy past you wrote for me. So many things about you I still don’t understand.
Maybe I went and stupidly rummaged through your personalities to find my own, and it was just scarier than I expected to find myself unlike all of you. But when I brush my fingers against yours, I realise that so much of what I am is what I have been.