I lost myself somewhere between what I gave and what was taken, in echoes of old versions that life had gently shaken. I wore smiles that didn’t fit, and dreams that weren’t my own, but even wilted flowers know how to bloom when left alone. So I gathered all my scattered pieces, the soft, the scarred, the true — stitched them with forgiveness and painted them brand new. Now I walk a little slower, but I see with clearer eyes; I’ve learned that losing who you were can help your soul rise. Because finding yourself again isn’t starting from the start — it’s meeting the person you’ve become and loving her with all your heart.