the things you think of at 3 in the morning

 the things you think of at 3 in the morning

still half asleep, eyes stubbornly shut,

you roll over and will your mind to sleep again.

(it’s too early + i’m so tired—)

and then you remember your dream. sporadic flashes of wait, i remember

and you wish you’d never woken up.

things you hadn’t thought of for far too long, those far-off places that live in the back of your head

even when you forgot what they felt like.

stories that you lived in and loved (and still do) that have the nutmeg tang of childhood.

i dreamed narnia existed. i dreamed of middle-earth and the beauty and the great battles and the lives lost and gained. 

i dreamed a dream—

and you remember what it felt like to be a child and not an adult, a child with dreams—

(really, you still are.)

thoughts on endings

 “i'll come back when you call me / no need to say goodbye."

    this year i'm a senior. it's difficult, saying goodbye to the things i've known for four years, but i'm also excited for what comes next. i don't want to say goodbye, though. i don't want to leave these people, these places behind. 

    i've still got time. i'm just not ready.

child

Everybody’s got to grow up sometime.

It comes on you gradually, 

a creeping shadow, a leaf in the wind.

And there comes a point when you say, like you always say,

“I’m not a child anymore,”

But you don’t really mean it. 

Not anymore. 

You begin to miss it - those flights of fancy, fighting dragons,

meeting the love of your life in a gold-tinged dream. 

Not everything’s so easy now.

There is good. Of course there is. But you feel her,

that little girl you used to be, slowly fading.

Becoming glass.

There are responsibilities now. 

It hurts sometimes, being too old for Narnia.

But there are bits of Narnia here, too.

ice cream summer

chocolate is the end of a performance, late-night rebellion, a victory dance.

mango is the sweet taste of beginnings, of hot summer evenings, of friendship.

strawberry is reflection, eating ice cream late at night and missing all the things that won’t ever happen again.

pineapple is bittersweet. the knowledge that good things are ending and others are starting. the tang of goodbyes and hellos and i’ll-miss-you’s and i-love-you’s. when will i see you again?

the child i used to be

sometimes i miss 

the child i used to be. 

yes, i was alone

and yes, i was naïve, 

but i didn’t care.

i didn’t care

what others thought, 

what they thought of me 

or who i was. 

i just was.

i was innocent.

trusting.

pure in heart.

i miss her, that little girl

who saw the world

so clearly

but herself

saw not at all.