Who have you become? You used to be so bright-eyed and eager. The love you believed in was loud and earnest, so outrageously youthful that you'd be beaming, constantly like the ray that you are.
Where has your fire gone? Could it really so simply have been the stress of life? That actually wore you down? You, the girl with her heart on fire, too anxious to write a poem? Too exhausted to rise with the sun? Too stressed out to do what you love?
How could you have possibly let yourself get so bogged down?
Who are you? This 27 year old? Tell me, please, how you have grown since you were 16. Did that period truly shake you so much that you imploded into yourself like some burning star that had no control of its fate? You are so so much bigger than what you allow yourself to be. You are still burning yet you hold back your own brightness. You are so much louder than the volume you allow yourself to speak. So much more gleeful, intelligent, and eager to be and enjoy than you give yourself credit for.
Go, be yourself. You used to be so kind, so loving to yourself. And you let that lead you to believe it necessary for some man to come along to take over.
I am your responsibility.
You must continue to be loving, kind. It is a disservice to keep your true self from the world. It is insulting to keep your true self from me.
Who are you? This 27 year old?
You are the 15 year old that falls in love. You are the 16 year old that writes novels about it. You are the 17 year old that sings songs about it. But first, and always, you are the 7 year old that decided you would be around long enough to discover it all.
Come, find me.
I'm waiting.
