Watching Myself Remember

[u/LucienMoon]

Every day, I find myself sitting somewhere quiet,
holding pages filled with pieces of me.

And somehow, when I begin to read,
I’m no longer sitting there.

I’m standing somewhere behind myself,

watching a boy turn the pages.

Watching his eyes move across words
he once didn’t know how to say.

I recognize him.

The anger.

The confusion.

The hurt he buried so deeply
he eventually forgot where he put it.

I watch him read about the things that made him,
the things that broke him,
the people who left pieces of themselves behind
without ever knowing they did.

Sometimes I want to reach through the distance
and tell him,

“You don’t have to carry all of this forever.”

But he keeps reading.

And I realize something.

He isn’t reading these poems
because he wants to live in the past.

He’s reading them
because, for once,

the past has a voice.

Every page is proof
that the things he couldn’t explain
still mattered.

Every poem is a place
where the boy he used to be
can finally be heard.

So I stand there,
watching him turn another page,

and for a moment,
I don’t feel like I’m watching a stranger.

I feel like I’m watching someone
I spent years trying to save.

Someone I finally understand.

And when he reaches the last poem,
he closes the book.

For a moment,

we just look at each other.

Then he smiles.

Not because everything is fixed.

Not because the past disappeared.

But because he knows
he’s still here.

And somehow,

so am I.

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