Querido yo, vamos a estar bien.
She remembered writing it. It was three in the morning. She had just finished the last of a cheap bottle of wine, her mascara tracing dark rivers down her cheeks. She had stared at her reflection in the fogged bathroom mirror, disgusted and exhausted. That younger version of herself had no idea that worse was coming. She didn’t know about the miscarriage at twenty-eight. Or the divorce at thirty. Or the panic attacks that would start in grocery stores, making her feel like the fluorescent lights were screaming. Libro Querido Yo Vamos A Estar Bien
We are going to be okay. Not perfect. Not fixed. But okay. And okay is a beautiful place to live. Querido yo, vamos a estar bien
She wasn’t fixed. The grief still visited, like a quiet relative who stayed too long. But she had learned to open the door, offer it tea, and watch it leave. She had just finished the last of a
But that younger self had still picked up a pen.