my hands are far too full to touch the faces of boys who have left me behind. my hands were made for holding the universe together, for catching shooting stars in the palm. they are meant for flying over piano keys, for writing down all the words i want to remember, for making hot chocolate on the latest of nights. they are not there to reach behind me for someone who isn’t coming back.
it took twenty one years but all at once, i feel like a person who tucks her own damn self into bed, who stays up late drinking wine with people she loves, who wears a short skirt to the party. all at once, i use lotion, i eat vegetables, i only wear clean pajamas. i have picked myself up off the floor enough times for my sadness to stop being interesting. my damsel-in-distress routine had an expiration date, after all
and now, all my dreams are everywhere all at once -- of getting married, of having friends and keeping them, of being the kind of person i can be proud of being. they are twisting through the soles of my feet like vines, something strong, with roots. i am sick of fleeting promises and flimsy maybe-nots i am only in the market for the deep and long-lasting.
and without even knowing how, here i am: the strongest thing you’ve ever seen.