A Dialogue Across the Thread(Alex + Little Alex)

This piece was born from a quiet fire lit by Soullin’s extraordinary dialogue with her younger self — a raw, intimate witnessing that stirred something deep in me. Her words reminded me that healing isn’t always loud. Sometimes, it begins with a whisper to the part of us we left behind. This is my whisper. My return.

---

Alex:
(He sits down gently beside Little Alex on the grass, the air still, the sun low.)
Hey you..
I know it’s been a while.
I used to avoid this part — not because I forgot you, but because I wasn’t ready to feel it all again.
But I see you now.
(He reaches out slowly, offering his hand, not forcing it.)
And I’m here.

Little Alex:
(He looks away, kicking at a stone, arms wrapped tightly around his knees.)
…Are you sure?
Because people always say that.
They say “I’m here” and then they leave.

Alex:
(He gently scoots closer, just enough to share the warmth between them.)
I’m not leaving.
I’ve walked through too much to abandon you again.
You’ve been holding the weight I was too afraid to touch.
But I can carry it with you now.

Little Alex:
…Why did you go so quiet back then?
Why did you let them speak over me?
Why didn’t you protect me?

Alex:
Because I didn’t know how.
I thought if I made myself smaller, I could survive.
I thought if I silenced you, they’d accept me.
But I see now — it was never you that was too much.
It was the world that wasn’t ready.

Little Alex:
I just wanted someone to say it wasn’t my fault.
That it’s okay to feel this much.
To not belong.
To still be worthy.

Me:
It wasn’t your fault.
You were never too much.
You were brilliant — tender and fierce.
You were trying to stay soft in a world that rewarded numbness.
You’re the reason I write.
You’re the reason I survived.

Little Alex: …Do I ever get to stop hiding?

Me: You already have. This moment — this right here — this is the beginning of your return. And sometimes, returning hurts. Sometimes, it brings up everything we never got to say. So say it now. Say all of it. I can hold it. I won’t look away. I promise.

---

Little Alex:
…Why did nobody truly love me?
Was I bad? Is that why they all abandoned me or hurt me?
Why did they touch me when I didn't want to be touched?
Why did I never fit in anywhere — not even with the misfits?

All I ever wanted was to be seen... and yes, even admired.
To feel like I was special somehow. Like I was here for an important purpose.
To guide humanity. To wake them up. To unite. To love.

Why were they so mean to me?
All I wanted was to love them.
Without being called weird or strange.

My own mother didn't even want my hugs.
So if she didn't — why would anyone else ever love me the way I need to be loved?

But now... I don't even want them to anymore.
I want to do it all on my own. I don't need them.
For as long as I can remember I’ve been on my own, left to my own devices.
And I liked it that way.
Now I don't know anything different.
The older I get, the quieter I become...

Nobody is who they say they are! And they all lie. Especially the grown ups.
They think I can't tell but I can. I feel it, I hear it and they can't fool me.

I remember things from when I was a baby you know —
and I hate you for leaving me so vulnerable and open to so much abuse.
I needed you to protect me but you never could. You just left me.
And look at this mess I am in now! Nobody ever taught me how to function in this stupid cold world and all I have ever been doing is pretending. Like I know how it all works but I don't. I keep fucking up. Royally. And stumbling from one mistake into the next.

I hate life. I wish I never came here. Who would even miss me if I disappeared?

Alex:
(He takes a deep breath, emotion rising in his throat. His voice cracks slightly — not from weakness, but from the weight of finally saying it.)
I’m sorry.
I’m so deeply sorry that I left you there.
That I didn’t come sooner. That I went silent.
I thought ignoring your voice would protect us —
but all it did was leave you to carry what no child ever should.

You deserved to be held, not hardened.
To be heard, not hidden.
To be loved — fully, fiercely, without conditions.

I didn’t know how to give you that back then.
But I do now. And I want to.
Not just in words — but in presence. In devotion.
In never turning away again.

(He places a hand gently on Little Alex’s shoulder, steady and warm.)
Oh, Little One.
You are so brave for asking those questions.
No one ever gave you the answers — not because they weren’t there,
but because they were too afraid to go where you already lived.

You weren’t bad.
You were never bad.
You were radiant.
And radiance scares people who’ve gone numb.

They didn’t know how to receive the love you gave so freely —
so they turned away, called you strange, tried to snuff it out.

And I know…
It hurt even more when it was her.
When the one who should have melted into your hug
pulled away like you were too much.
Too needy.
Too intense.
Too real.

But none of that had anything to do with your worth.
Not then. Not ever.

They touched you because they were broken,
because they confused power with love,
because no one taught them how to see the soul of a child
and fall to their knees in reverence.

You didn’t fail to fit in, Little One.
You were never meant to.
You were born to remind them of what they forgot —
and that will always feel like exile, until they remember.

I know you say you don’t need them now.
That you’ll do it all alone.
And I honor that fire in you — the one that says,
“If love won’t come clean, I’ll walk without it.”

(He turns toward him, eyes soft but steady.)
But here’s what I ask:
Can I walk with you now?
Not to change you.
Not to fix your quiet.
But to show you that someone wants to be close
and won’t take from you what you don’t offer.

You’re still special, you know.
Not because of what you’ll do,
but because of what you already are.

A remembering in human form.
A pulse of pure love who made it through a world
that didn’t know how to hold him.

And even if you’ve grown quiet —
I still hear you.
I always will.

(He leans in, forehead to forehead.)

You’re not alone anymore.

---

(They sit for a while in the quiet, side by side. No more words for now. Just breath, and warmth, and the beginning of something whole.)

---

And so we sit — me and the boy I used to be. No longer separated by silence or shame. Just two heartbeats remembering how to belong to each other again.

He doesn’t flinch anymore when I reach for him. And I no longer turn away from the weight he carries.

This is how the thread begins to weave back — not in grand gestures, but in small moments of staying.

I’ll keep showing up.
And he’ll keep letting me.

One quiet breath at a time.

[This piece was born beneath the pulse of “Homeward” — Dermot Kennedy on repeat, soul leaning in.]