It was the line about… 'what would you tell your younger self?' and my palms started to sweat… like i KNEW there was something true waiting there but i almost didn't… almost didn't want to hear it. Had to put the pen down twice… walk around the apartment… look out at the street below… the colors… different now. i'm different now. Richmond… brighter than i remember it being years ago. ’You were never the problem.’ That's what it wrote itself, finally. The pen… heavy in my hand, the kitchen… smaller. And the relief… mixed with… something else. guilt? shame? That it took this long… that i believed it for so long. and the letters… to him… suddenly different. the voice on the mirror… louder… clearer. I used to think forgiving myself meant excusing the behavior. Like, 'Oh well, I was young and didn't know better.' But it's not that. It's acknowledging the hurt I caused, accepting that it's part of the story, and then CHOOSING to live differently now. And the weirdest part? The people I needed to apologize to the most were future versions of myself.