You did not make me, I made you.

The mistakes we make are what make us and I am the worst one yet. My claws are in everything, baby. I'm not finished.

We tell ourselves that our undoings are what leads us to our true selves, what was meant to be this whole time. X failed so Y could succeed.

Maybe this is true, maybe you've convinced yourself enough to make it true. Maybe you will pick up and start again.

Everything will change but I will still be here in your darkest moments of doubt. See, I still happened.

I still happened and no amount of reconciliation will change me.

Yours truly.