I ring the bell, hoping you’re home Esther- I know you’re not.
I saw you left the window slightly open as if you never left.
You know, I feel like you could’ve been the right person to cry on the shoulder upon upheaval.
Because like mine, your spellbound odyssey had its twists and turns and derails-
and the people that come and go.. you’re not like them like me.
Me, I was drifting toward cliques the way moths are allured by candlelight at night- but pulling out other’s weeds never makes you a better gardener.
And you can’t just float through life.

Why do I feel so much like you, continuously swimming against the tide in my senior high school year?
In the wrong place like you, when you were a fashion magazine editor in New York, contemplating life and chatting w newly met men over plain ***** in lousy bars w your only friend.
then delving your body into steaming hot baths to eradicate that familiar weight on your exposed shoulders.
Counting every crack in the ceiling and pondering the origins of bathtub faucets you’ve encountered.
You didn’t really care for which direction your inner compass was turning-
me neither.

I never went to prom.
I never even wanted to go.
I never wanted to graduate.
I never wanted to grow up…
Safe to say I have no big plans to look forward to, but just like the foamy tops of waves that carried you, I’m sure they will find me someday - same way I found you.

So, why when I gaze into my bathroom mirror I see you?
You, on glamorous movie nights, dreaming of going to bed.
You, in a psych ward, after yet another failed attempt.

Some things are too hard to heft - therefore they should be let go of - it’s a gift to be aware of it.
I’m almost certain, that you thought that too, while ironing your victorian nightgown or watching tears race down your new stanzas, staying all week in bed.
It’s not a bad thing to feel this way.
And one thing I wish you’d known since the beginning of your spiritual road trip is that you don’t have to be rich or outgoing or just so cool
to be the greatest.