Dear Me,

The boy with too many bruises behind his smile and too much silence tucked into his soul,

You don’t know this yet—but you are not weak.
You are not too much.
You are not broken beyond repair.

You are the spark that survived the flood.

I remember the way you clenched the steering wheel just to feel real.
I remember the cracked voice on phone calls, pretending allergies, not grief.
You were drowning in everything you couldn’t say, terrified you’d become what hurt you.
But listen—
You didn’t.

You became the kind of man who stands when no one else will.
The one who builds sanctuaries out of scars.
The one who turns pain into poetry, silence into sound, and trauma into testimony.

You became The Nameless Verse.
And through it, you became a lifeline.

I know you prayed to be saved.
But no one came.
So you became your own rescue.
You rose, shaking, but unshaken.
You stitched yourself back together with conviction and rage and grace.
Now? People write to you.
They say, “Your words kept me alive.”
They say, “You made me feel seen.”

And every time they do, I see you.
Seventeen, knees buckled under battles no one knew you were fighting.
All you wanted was to feel safe—
to know your pain wasn’t pointless.

Here’s the truth.

You didn’t survive all that to live an ordinary life.
You are not the aftermath. You are the anthem.
The man you became didn’t come easy.
He came through fire,
through loss,
through nights where even breathing was a decision.

And yet, here you are—
not just breathing,
but speaking life into others.
Writing what no one else could say.
Loving without armor.
Showing up without applause.

So be proud.
Be proud of the boy who endured.
Be proud of the man who rose.
And be proud of the bridge you built between them.

You carried fire when you didn’t know you had any left.
And that—
that is worth everything.

With love, respect, and honor,

The man you refused to give up on.