They ask me, "Do you ever think about the past?" And I smile, Because I do. More than I should. I think about the kid I was - the one who tried so hard to be enough, and I wish I could tell them it wasn't their fault. But I don't know how. I don't know where to start. I still talk to myself the way the world once did: too harsh, too cold. I say I've grown, but sometimes I still treat that old version of me like they're someone I'm ashamed of. No one sees that part. They just see the person I've become, not the quiet war I fight with who I used to be. I don't hate them. I just don't know how to forgive them, or myself.