I wonder how many versions of me exist in other people's memories. Someone remembers the girl I was before I learned to leave. Someone remembers a laugh I don't even make anymore. Someone remembers the late night conversations, the little things I said without thinking, the person I was when I still believed some people were meant to stay. And somewhere, perhaps, I am still someone's favourite version of myself. It's strange, isn't it? We spend so much of our lives becoming someone new, while pieces of our old selves continue living quietly in other people's memories. Sometimes I miss those versions of me. Not because I want to go back but because they loved so freely. Maybe growing up isn't about leaving every old version of ourselves behind. Maybe it's about carrying them gently, like pressed flowers between the pages of a book proof that once, we were there.
✦ A Note from TSM
Thank you for this beautiful piece! I love how you highlight the fact that people carry sooo many different versions of us in their memories, even as we continue to grow. We often get so caught up in the idea of improving ourselves and striving for the next best thing that we forget to appreciate how far we've already come. Your piece really reminded me to pause and appreciate the present and past versions of myself. 💗
