Reunion

I cannot wait to meet my healed self Sprinting and crying in her arms For we have been through A great deal of despair together I surmise I will know her instantly. Not by the strength in her stride, nor by the easy rhythm of her breathing, but by the look in her eyes the alertness of someone who once measured every morning to determine what remained of herself. We will stand there for a moment, studying each other. She will hold my face and search it and I will search hers as one might hold a photograph for proof that it was worth it. I imagine she laughs more softly than I do now. Yet I hope she remembers. Not the agony itself, but the weight of enduring it. The nights spent bargaining. The futures built and rebuilt from the rubble of plans. I do not want to meet a stranger. I want to meet the woman who gathered every broken version of me, every frightened and furious shard, and carried them safely across the river when I could not. The body did not win every battle. Neither did we. But enough of us crossed the finish line to become you.