Pieces Of Me

For that first day

My dear,

You arrived on a Saturday.

Outside, it was raining — that warm, summer rain that smells like wet earth and open windows. It wasn’t a storm. It just fell, quietly, as if it had no need to make noise that day.

As if it too knew something was happening inside.

You knew nothing of any of this.

Not the rain. Not the Saturday. Not the people waiting to see you.

You didn’t know who you were or what was coming.

You only had a breath — small, new, yours.

And that was enough.

I want to tell you something that will take you many years to understand:

It still is. It always was.

Just that — being here, breathing, existing — that was always the whole point.

Everything else you’ll build, prove, search for and lose… it will come. And it will pass. Sometimes quickly, sometimes not quite.

But that first breath, that Saturday, that rain outside — that is you, before everything else.

The life ahead of you will be beautiful. And it will be hard. And sometimes it won’t resemble either.

There will be days you won’t remember, that will change you anyway.

There will be people who leave, and ones who stay — but not the way you expected.

There will be mornings when you’ll know exactly who you are.

And nights when you won’t know anything at all.

And through all of it… You might forget this.

So I’ll tell you again:

Come back here.

To that rainy Saturday. To that smell drifting through the window. To the room where you were just a small, warm, living thing.

No history.

No explanation.

Just here.

The world wasn’t waiting for you to be perfect.

It was waiting for you to arrive.

And you did.

On a Saturday. In the rain. In summer.

It still is. It always was.

And that, perhaps, was enough for a whole life.

With love that began that day and never stopped, You — a little older

This letter was written for the Pieces Of Me challenge by Saima Akther✨