Dear ego,
one day you'll read this and you're going to smile even though the words will be mostly sad. I know because somewhere in this confusion of thoughts and feelings I'm still you and I know you. I know everything about you, even the things you'd like to hide and the parts of you that you never show to anyone because you're so afraid of being judged. Afraid all the time.
I know you, ego. And I know you'll appreciate knowing me too because as time passes you forget and I'm left behind with the things that are not important to you anymore. I'm left with that shirt that got stained with red wine and has a hole under the left armit, but that you loved to wear because it had been a gift from your mother. I'm left behind with the still half-full bottle of perfume you bought yourself one Christmas because you wanted to pretende you were grown up and sophisticated like the women in commercials and French movies, but that smelled too strong and actually made your nose itch and gave you one july weekend the worse rhinitis crisis you had in years.
You still wore it after that (you always were too stubborn to your own good), only really stopping when you needed to move and there was no space in your bag for all the things you needed to carry and you ended up forgetting it inside that old wardrobe which the left door didn't open all the way. I still think about that bottle of perfume sometimes, wonder if someone found it and if they threw it away like you should have or if they liked it and maybe there's someone out there smelling like yourself. I wonder if one day I may be walking on a street and I may pass someone smelling like me.
I'm left behind with all the selfies you took of yourself and immediately deleted because you were never pretty enough, good enough, strong enough. Never enough.
I'm left behind with the purple bike your parents gifted you on your sixth birthday. With the girl that had scrapped knees and cried because her favorite doll-like-barbie (your mother never had enough money to buy the real ones) had been eaten by your aunts dog that night you forgot to bring her back inside. With the girl that liked reading mysteries and dreamed of becoming the next Agatha Christie.
I'm left behind while you grow, while you become someone else.
I'm left behind but I'm still a part of you, which you sometimes fear and sometimes rejects and most of the time loves. A part of you that still aches, a part of you that hardened like shellfish but still has really thin skin underneath and if pressed too hard gets tender like a fresh bruise.
I'm so sorry we lost touch, that I got on your nerves and made you ashamed, afraid, and disgusted. I'm sorry for the tears I made you cry, but ego, you must know, the fault wasn't all mine. Sorry I was weak, and not strong enough to stop yourself all the times you made yourself hurt. I'm sorry I let you forget you were loved and not a burden and that you were missed. I'm sorry I let you ruin us.
I know you appreciate the truth, ego. We both never liked half-lies. I know will appreciate the reminder, I'm still you, even if you forgot, and you always have me, even if you don't want. Not all endings need to be sad, not all endings need to be goodbyes.
So, ego, don't be a stranger. I really hope this finds you well. See you soon.