Just me

Do you ever have one of those days
when the girl in the mirror isn’t you?
The brown, wavy hair,
the glasses —
not you.
The girl who cried in the practice room —
not you.
Alienated from yourself,
you question your own identity.
Who am I?
Who is she?
What? You don’t have those days?
Oh, okay then.
It’s just me.


Gray Hope

When it’s raining leaves,
and the wind is my stylist
whispering things in my ear,
I feel like I’m in a fantasy novel.
And then, the gray skies prophecy not the end,
but the beginning.
My life is an adventure,
not a tragedy.


They say write what you know. So here’s a fictionalized version of something that happened to me today.

I’ve been on the phone with Sam for about a minute and I’m already whining about making it through the last three weeks of my trip.

“I just wanna be able to eat food.” I cry once I’ve finished my monologue about not having freedom in my host family’s kitchen. Sam laughs the way he does when I’ve said something cute.

“I’m sorry for laughing, you’re just so cute.” I smile at the boy who can’t see my face.

“It’s okay, I think your crying is cute too.” I remind him.

“You’re right. Now, I want you to stand up.” Sam says. I give him an okay, and slowly get out of my swivel chair.

“Alright, I’m standing.”

“Now turn around.” I’m not sure why he’s telling me to turn around, but I do it anyway. “Now tell me what you see.” I sigh, and do as he says.

“I see a pile of messy stuff on the floor, my closet, the clothes all over my hanger thing, all the garbage I collected this morning, my handbags on the hooks, the screen door, and my open sliding door.” I’m really confused as to why he asked me to list everything. Maybe he’d just wanted me to say “the screen door” or something because that was the first thing I saw.

“Right, I asked you that because I knew you’d list things because I know you.” Sam says, and I smile and my heart sings. After dating this boy for ten months, sometimes I wonder just how much he loves me. I don’t see his face most of the time, and because of the time difference when I do talk to him it’s not much. But with sentences like that one, I’m reassured all over again just how much he really does care for me and pay attention to me. It breaks my heart just how wonderful he is. “Everything you just listed is eight and a half months of stuff. Think about how far you’ve come and how much you’ve done in that eight and a half months. Compared to that, how much do you have left?”

“A skip and a jump.”

“Just a tiny bit. It’s like running a marathon, and you get tired towards the end. You know what you have to do for the last stretch?”

“Be patient?” I ask.

“Sprint.” Sam answers. “Sprint, because even though you’re tired, you just need to push through. Don’t let yourself be sad, you just have to sprint to the end. You are so strong, I know you can do it.”

Thank you, lover boy. You may not know this about me yet, but I’m pretty good at sprinting. Or maybe you do know that, and that is why you are telling me to sprint. The things you say amaze me sometimes. Maybe that’s why I love you.