Participant Profile

                                
To My Younger Self
You stopped dancing after her funeral. Ten years old, holding your breath in grief’s silence. I remember you tracing clouds on foggy windows, hoping she’d return. You grew up too fast—laughing for others, crying in secret. But listen: you kept going, even when the world blurred. One day, you’ll wear joy like that old blue hoodie she gave you. And you’ll dance again—not to forget her, but because she lived.
With love,
The future you—still healing, but finally free.