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Stumbling down memory lane
Silly girl,
Hopelessness might as well have been your middle name. You still use it to describe yourself sometimes. You giggled at lame jokes because in some way they were unironically funny. Secretly, you still do.
Change isn't scary. It's refreshing. You still love apple juice, some things don't change.
Patterns, you've recognized are one of the things you notice. you like to notice. I notice you. I change the colors of the room you've found home in, in my soul. Once black, now an ombre of pale, breathable color. Breathable air. You can breathe. Breathe in deep.
I'm not you anymore but oh I hold you in ways you've never been held.
You aren't heavy. Lightweight.
You carried the world on your nimble neck, give it some rest. The world isn't too much for you, you're too much for the world. Somehow, you are in it. Let yourself be a part of it, not held accountable for it. You are not an adult. Not yet, soon. Sooner than you think actually.
I've got your soul tatted on me, in an arrow heart. I couldn't tell you if the arrow occupies an empty space or if it's made itself home. Is it worse to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all?
I still see you in the crevice of my smile. In the way I curl up to fall asleep. It isn't pretty. I've never called you pretty. You are beyond the confinements of language and interpretation. No more will I bind you to mundane cynicisms.
You don't have to crawl back to be by my side. Stand tall. Steadfast. Walk with purpose, both of your journey and your destination. Stumble and shake your head. Speed up. Jog. Run. Swiftly, with all the passion you can muster up with those braids.
Walk past memory lane. Through it, above it, avoid it, I see you. Leave nothing on hold. I run things at 10x speed. Keep up. You know you can.
I've always seen you. Come through me with a withstanding force of nostalgia and giggles. Silly girl. To next time, next moment.
Love,
P
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i'm 17, filled with boundless creativity, my secret strength. Maybe not so secret anymore.