On the day I got back to myself, I’d forgotten who she was. I’ve settled back into my skin with comfort and unfamiliarity. This is not the body I’d left. Age and sickness have taken their told. I’m heavier; I bear the marks of new medications, of alcohol, of sitting and sitting and going days without taking a step. But like a repainted house, the shapes of things are still the same. I find, to my astonishment, that I can still find way around in the dark.
It’s strange to tell yourself hello, especially after such a long absence. But the remarkable feeling is one of peace. I might leave again—god knows it could happen. But now I know the truth. I’ll be waiting for me. And when I’m back, I’ll have the joy of rediscovery. You never have to find yourself alone.