when i was young, we played in the garden behind my house.
you chased me as i chased my brothers and the wind tugged at my braids and freckles stained my cheeks.
you were there as i giggled as my father spun me around and let me dance on his toes.
you came to me in the summer, with endless nights spent skipping rocks at the river.
you came at christmas every year until recently and you came when my mother learned to laugh again, after that dark day in May.
you were there.
you made saturday morning cartoons with uncombed hair the highlight of the week.
you started coming less and less the more i learned about the world, but you were still found in things like chocolate oranges and butterfly kisses.
i find you now, in the phone calls home and the care packages filled with sweet notes.
i've realized that you come in the form of people and places rather than exquisite actions and success.
this was a series i wrote in college. just stumbled upon them tonight and remembered how good it felt to write so vulnerably. starting with joy to break up the last 7 years of depressing **** i posted on here. don't worry. more depressing **** will come later!