So much has changed. I’ll never go back home. I’ll never feel young again. I’ll never know innocence like how I used to. I’ll never feel naivety in that way. I’ll never feel the grass on Patrica drive. I’ll never drive down west 130th street with my father. I’ll never hear songs that used to make me feel happy without feeling sadness. I’m writing love notes to my old self saying sorry. I savor every smile because I know I fucking earned it. I’m chasing these things again and when I hold them closely, it doesn’t feel the same. My joints tighten and twist like roots buckling through the forest ground. I feel my bones shifting off balance from growing too fast and when I stretch out my arms to reach for my old self, I fall backwards. I wish I fell back into comfort. You crave that sort of thing, right? I think I’ll taste it if the sourness leaves my tongue, but I’m not sure it ever will. A thunder storm won’t hurt you unless it gets angry, so I remind myself to calm the gloominess in my mind before it gets out of hand. My mom tells me that this type of sadness takes time to work through. She says it takes so much fucking time and I’m so young and I’m so brave and I’m seasoned beyond compare and even though it’s not fair, it’s beautiful because it shaped me. And even though I may not understand the pangs in my chest, or the heaviness behind it all, it’s mine to own. It all changed but at least it meant something. AMT©️