I know every detail about

every version of herself

she has ever been—

a ghost of days long past,

shadows cast upon the floor,

footsteps fading in forgotten halls.

She was once a wildflower,

untamed in the wind’s embrace,

her laughter echoing in the breeze,

a flicker of light caught

between dusk and dawn,

her soul restless, never staying still.

I know every detail,

the moments she buried deep,

underneath the weight of words

she never spoke,

beneath the smiles

that hid the trembling hands.

She wore her armor made of silence,

swept her sorrow into the folds of time,

but in the quiet spaces between her breaths,

I felt her unravel—

a mosaic of the girl she once was,

and the woman she was meant to be.

I know every detail—

the soft curve of her sorrow,

the jagged edges of her joy,

how she stitched herself together

with threads of hope

and the scars she left behind.

And when she steps into the world,

each version of herself

moves like ink on a page,

writing and rewriting

the story of who she is,

of who she was

and might one day be.