Deeper She Was: Me _top_

The deeper I went, the less she felt like a stranger and the more she felt like a memory my bones had kept without telling me. Deeper, and her voice became my first language. Deeper, and the walls I'd built turned out to be mirrors.

And when I finally stopped swimming against the current of myself, I understood: every layer I peeled back, every shadow I stepped into—it wasn't me finding her. deeper she was me

It was her becoming me.