she was layer after layer
scattered shards glinting white on the ground.
her hope was crushed,
or just about.
the light in her eyes had died.
it was nothing more than a dull glimmer where once had raged a wildfire.
He broke her in the places she thought she had been the strongest.
He left scars on skin marked only by constellations of freckles.
He taught her what it meant to hate,
to act in one’s own interest.
She lost her pure heart,
her flaming curiosity,
her fierce independence
to a boy who didn’t know what it meant
She began the journey to find herself full of wishes,
trying desperately to remember who she had been before she lost her way.
I wrote that about a year ago.
I think that sometimes I still have moments (days, weeks, months . . .) where I don’t have a clue who I am. There are times when I have to fight, where I have to actively concentrate to remember.
But, mostly, I’m okay with where I’m at, and with who I am. And that’s a good feeling.