We were kids

I'm on the phone.

The voice on the other line says, "You survived with scars, but you survived."

We were kids. We didn't know any better.

You had no business carrying all that at that age. The grief, the fear, the responsibility of keeping everything together when you were barely alive yourself. You had no business learning what a warped laptop meant, what violence looks like, what it feels like to pass out from grief at your own brother's funeral.

I'm really sorry I wasn't mature enough to be in a capacity to understand what was happening to you.

I'm sorry we never talked about it and I never knew what to say. I'm sorry I made you keep going - school, then university, then a master's degree, then certifications - running and running so you never had to stop and feel. I'm sorry I told you that surviving was enough, that you didn't also deserve to heal.

I'm so sorry to that little girl.

We were just kids... We were just kids.