Deeper She Was Me May 2026

She was the bottom.

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. deeper she was me

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. She was the bottom

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. deeper she was me