A Monologue from the Boy I Once Was - II

You might want to read this one first: Monologue to the Boy I Once was - I.

Alright… I’ll speak.

Even if my voice is small. Even if it trembles. Even if I don’t know how to talk to the man I’m supposed to become.

I hear you.

I hear every word you said, even the ones you didn’t say out loud.

And I want you to know something too.

I wasn’t as strong as you think.

Not then.

Not in that Belgrade home with the old furniture that creaked like it remembered wars I never lived through. I was scared. All the time. Scared of choosing wrong. Scared of disappointing someone. Scared of being the reason adults raised their voices.

I didn’t understand why people were fighting over me.

I didn’t understand why love felt like a battlefield.

I didn’t understand why I had to be the prize in a war I never started.

But I tried.

God, I tried.

I tried to be quiet, so no one would get angry.

I tried to be good, so no one would leave.

I tried to disappear, so no one would break.

And when I watched that movie - the one with the fire and the horses and the music that felt like a heartbeat - I didn’t know why it hurt. I didn’t know why it felt like someone was telling my story before it even happened.

But now I get it.

You’re right.

I wasn’t just watching it.

I was living it.

And I want to tell you something back, something you need to hear from me.

Thank you.

Thank you for surviving.

Thank you for not becoming cold.

Thank you for carrying me with you, even when you didn’t know you were.

Thank you for growing into someone who can look back without drowning.

I’m proud of you, too.

Even if I don’t know how to say it without crying.

And one more thing, the most important thing:

I never blamed you.

Not once.

Not for anything.

I just wanted you to make it.

And you did.