just for me. just for you.

when i was 15, i often secretly referred to myself as "the Optimist." i was this person i described in this poem. the world was so incredibly vibrant through my eyes. i couldn't stop seeing beauty in everything, i couldn't stop feeling wonder at the simple pleasures and at the mere prospect of being alive. candles, flowers, paint, clouds, strangers' faces, laughter, the color yellow, beetles and worms, cats, scrambled eggs, blueberries, an out of tune violin, stars and sunrises, watches, ***** aprons, EVERYTHING. how can i make it any clearer that EVERYTHING was beautiful? i saw the world and all the people in it as, at its core, kind and overwhelmingly good, despite its faults. i stopped dwelling on my regrets, i stopped feeling my regrets on a detrimental level, and focused on loving myself enough to forgive myself and move on. i was so, so, so happy to be alive. i remember waking up one morning, head on pillow, staring lazily at the hallway light flooding in the room through my cracked door. i felt as if i was being bathed in liquid sunlight. at this time in my life, i drank an obscene amount of tea, and that, too, felt like liquid sunshine dripping down my throat. i was thrilled by the world. i wanted to learn everything i possibly could about it, know as many people as possible. i pursued so many obscure skills and hobbies, read as many books as i could, studied and studied and studied, and got paint on my fingers whenever possible. i went out into the world and found myself meeting so many new and wonderful people, constantly. i miss how kind i was. i knew everyone and everything deserved kindness, and i was so good at following through with it. curiosity, wonder, optimism, kindness, love, and an entirely open heart seemed to define me. i have since seemed to misplaced this version of myself. i don't know how it happened, but it did. but i'm ready for that to be me again. im ready. im ready.