Luna

In a conversation with my brother today,
my childhood came back all at once.

We talked about the girl I used to be…
the one who walked into every fight
like fear had never learned her name.
Loud, brave, impossible to break.

And somewhere between the laughter and memories,
my chest tightened.

How did I become the first one to give up?
How did life quietly steal that fearless girl from me
without me even noticing?

I think the saddest kind of missing
is missing the person you used to be.