Deeper She Was Me Better -

I used to think she lived at the bottom of me—a small, silent thing buried under years of politeness and noise. But I was wrong.

Only the deep.

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

She was the bottom.

Only me.

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. I used to think she lived at the