when i met myself again

I met myself in a paperback,

some random line on page two-forty-three.

It wasn’t even something special,

but God, it sounded like me.

Coffee cooling on the counter,

rain tapping out a song,

and I swear for a second

I felt like I still belonged.

She used to talk like thunder,

laugh like sunlight through the blinds,

she believed in every daydream

yeah, that girl was mine.

But somewhere between trying too hard

and feeling not enough,

I built walls out of apologies

and called it growing up.

Now I find her in the little things

the hum of a late-night tune,

in stories that end in half-light,

in the glow of an empty room.

She’s softer now, but stronger,

a little less afraid.

Still quiet in a crowded place,

but she’s not fading away.

And maybe I never lost her,

just forgot how to let her in.

Maybe finding yourself

is just remembering again.

So here’s to the girl in the mirror,

to the spark I almost missed.

She smiles like she forgives me

and maybe she always did.