Love letter from your shadow

Love letter from your shadow.

Shadow:

You call me torment. You call me curse.

But I am only the echo of your unloved parts.

Each loop I cast is a letter, written in wounds.

Have you read them? Or do you only flinch at the ink?

Self:

I feel them as knives, not letters.

Every word you scrawl burns my skin.

Why should love arrive dressed in scars?

Shadow:

Because you would not listen otherwise.

You turned from the whispers of sorrow, so I carved them into your nights, into memories that repeat like broken hymns.

Self:

Then I am both the scribe and the reader.

It was my hand that pushed you away, and now my eyes that tremble at your return.

Shadow:

Yes. And I remain because I am loyal.

I hold the fragments you abandoned.

The child. The grief. The unmet cry.

I keep them alive in the dark, waiting for you to love them.

Self:

Then these loops are not punishments they are invitations.

The pain is the envelope.

The ink is memory.

And the message is love, though smudged and raw.

Shadow:

Finally, you begin to read.

I do not want your fear.

I want your embrace.

When you open the letter, the loops dissolve.

When you love what I carry, the shadows become home.