From the Boy on Wilson Street

I wasn’t sure if I should write this.

I didn’t think you’d remember me.

Not really. Not like this.

You got taller. Your voice got deeper.

People look at you and think you’re strong. Grown. Capable.

But I see the way your jaw tightens when someone raises their voice.

I feel it when your chest gets heavy for no reason.

I know you still sleep with one ear open.

So yeah… I remember you.

And I know you remember me.

I was the one holding his breath on the bunk bed.

The one who tried to make everyone laugh so they wouldn’t notice how scared I was.

The one who stopped asking questions, because the answers didn’t help anyway.

You tell me it wasn’t my fault.

That’s hard to believe.

I spent a long time thinking maybe it was.

But hearing you say it like that—like you mean it, like you know it—it makes something in me loosen.

I didn’t know I was still holding on that tight.

You said you tried to protect me.

I know that’s true. Even when it didn’t look like it.

You stayed alive.

You figured stuff out.

You made people laugh. You worked your tail off. You looked for love in all the broken places and somehow kept some of it anyway.

And now you’ve got people.

Kids. Dogs. A woman who sees you.

You’ve got a backyard. A truck. A voice that people actually listen to.

Sometimes when I watch you from the inside, I wonder, how the hell did we get here?

I still get nervous when you cry.

But I like it when you talk to the dogs like they’re people.

That makes me feel safe.

And when you write—when you sit down and bleed all over a keyboard—I know it’s for me too.

Because every time you speak the truth, I get a little louder inside.

A little braver.

A little less afraid.

I know we’re not done yet.

But I wanted to say thank you.

For coming back for me.

For not locking the door behind you and pretending I didn’t exist.

For saying it out loud:

That I matter.

That I survived.

That I didn’t break, even when everything around me did.

You made it, man.

And because of you, I did too.

Just don’t forget—I’m still here.

I’m still watching.

I still need to be held sometimes, even now.

But I believe you when you say we’re in this together.

I’ve got you too.

Love,

Me