childhood

I went back to visit you. I only observed you from the outside, but you seemed different. The years must have separated us from each other. Even though you were no longer ours, there were still some of our emblems marked on you, some indications that you had been ours at some point in your existence.

Because even though we’re all spread across the country for college and the iMessage group chat is slowly dying, we will always have one thing in common: We were girls together.

Believe it or not, our beloved college town has a charming doppelganger just northwest of Denver.

When you disappear, none of us notice until you’re gone. Turning the corner, we make a left and descend the stairs to the parking lot. It’s littered with vehicles, waste and gum on the concrete. Someone is screaming, I don’t know who. Maybe we’re all screaming all at once. 

Every game promised intertwining tales of people fighting for an oddly shaped silver trophy to hoist above their heads in late February. Sports provide comfort in the ever changing narrative of each of our individual lives.

As a child and a teenager, baking cake was something I did for fun, something that was a regular part of my life. It was a way for me to connect with people, to create something of my own.

I first started keeping a diary at the age of 9. Going through old entries, I realized that while I can never fully remember everything I ever experience, my diary will.

some nights my tears drown me, the weight in my chest amplifies, I feel like I’ve swallowed glass and won’t ever breathe again. 

I have recently rediscovered my copy of Yeats' collected poems. I felt compelled to respond to the poem again now, years later, without peeking at my previous attempt.

I find myself incredibly grateful now, finally, for things that I always should’ve been grateful for.