This is for the deleted ones: those sentences that had to be sacrificed to make something better.
There was a time when you were enough. You helped me to find my story; I’ll always be grateful for that.
But your role was to shape, to lead, to create. You were never meant to stay.
You helped me to find new words that were more evocative, more powerful, more striking. You gave me the confidence to polish and shape and rewrite, to keep going until I had things just right.
At first, I was afraid to let you go. You were a part of me, once. I created you. I whispered your words to myself, over and over, trying to make sense of their place in this tale.
I pulled you apart and stitched you back together, trying to make you fit. But you always knew this wasn’t your place.
You knew I could do better and you stood tall until I realised that. You didn’t flinch when I hit delete.
But you’ll always be a part of my story; forever in draft.