I met the girl I once was, for coffee today.
Her eyes wide with wonder, yet heavy with doubt
“What happened to the stories you wrote?”
She asks with a tilt, her words catch my throat.
“Did the tales of romance drift away?
Or do they still dance in your thoughts some days?”
I smile at her, then sip my mocha,
The quiet mornings are now part of me.
“I draw less, dream softer, but still I try,
To shape a life where my passions lie.”
Her frame is cloaked in a big T-shirt,
Baggy jeans hiding the body she hates.
I glance at myself, a dress that flatters,
Learning, now, how to honor what matters.
She studies me, searching for signs.
“Does the quiet fill you with peace or ache?"
"Do you ever find light in your mistakes?”
“Both,” I reply, “I've grown to know that life is a balance of ebb and flow.
But love… oh, love, it’s a lesson twice learned.
Her laughter fades, replaced by thought,
“You still believe in the magic you sought?”
I nod, for the girl who sketched the skies,
Still lives in the woman who now strives.
“And the clothes?” she teases, glancing my way,
I chuckle and say, “I’m learning each day.
To dress like a lady, to love the view,
To embrace the self that was always true.”
“Will we be proud?” she asks with grace,
I see in her eyes, my younger face.
I take her hand, a bridge through years,
through all our doubts, our love, our fears.
“We are proud,” I say, soft and true,
“For we became the dreams we once outgrew.
The girl you were, the woman I am
Not perfect, but whole, and that is enough.”
Jan 22
Jan 22, 2026 at 7:51 AM UTC
I met the girl I once was, for coffee today.
Her eyes wide with wonder, yet heavy with doubt
“What happened to the stories you wrote?”
She asks with a tilt, her words catch my throat.
“Did the tales of romance drift away?
Or do they still dance in your thoughts some days?”
I smile at her, then sip my mocha,
The quiet mornings are now part of me.
“I draw less, dream softer, but still I try,
To shape a life where my passions lie.”
Her frame is cloaked in a big T-shirt,
Baggy jeans hiding the body she hates.
I glance at myself, a dress that flatters,
Learning, now, how to honor what matters.
She studies me, searching for signs.
“Does the quiet fill you with peace or ache?"
"Do you ever find light in your mistakes?”
“Both,” I reply, “I've grown to know that life is a balance of ebb and flow.
But love… oh, love, it’s a lesson twice learned.
Her laughter fades, replaced by thought,
“You still believe in the magic you sought?”
I nod, for the girl who sketched the skies,
Still lives in the woman who now strives.
“And the clothes?” she teases, glancing my way,
I chuckle and say, “I’m learning each day.
To dress like a lady, to love the view,
To embrace the self that was always true.”
“Will we be proud?” she asks with grace,
I see in her eyes, my younger face.
I take her hand, a bridge through years,
through all our doubts, our love, our fears.
“We are proud,” I say, soft and true,
“For we became the dreams we once outgrew.
The girl you were, the woman I am
Not perfect, but whole, and that is enough.”
Jan 22
Jan 22, 2026 at 7:42 AM UTC