I suppose, in a lot of ways, I’ve grown up this year. I’ve changed my job, my wardrobe, my lifestyle, my romantic interests, pretty much everything about myself. But this morning I had an interesting revelation. I miss the old me. I miss the girl who was most at home in jeans and hoodies, both indoors and out. I miss the girl who had no idea what make-up was, or how to tie a scarf. I miss the girl whose day wasn’t ruined just because she broke a heel. The girl who never even dared to wear said heels.
I miss the girl who was so set in her ways that she couldn’t be bothered with the status quo. She wrote five blog posts a day, simply because she could, and spent days and days and days lost and buried in words and sound. She made such grande jokes about her weight that she was convinced it didn’t bother her, she wore her heart upon her sleeve and wasn’t afraid to get it broken.
I miss the girl that skipped inside the corridors of my mind. The girl who didn’t worry because she was too young to know how much stuff there was to worry about. She stopped in mid-thought to write a poem she would never send about a love she would never feel for a great man she could never know. She lived from moment to moment because to her, there was no beyond, no future. Dreams were beautiful and real, fantasy was an awe-filled plaything, and tomorrow was nothing but curls of purple mist.
Now that I’ve grown into a woman, I wonder where the little girl went. I wonder if I’ll ever find her again. Maybe she served her purpose, did her time, and wandered back to never-never-land. Sometimes, I wonder if she even existed, or if my memory is only playing tricks. Maybe she only lives and breathes in the dark halls of nostalgia. I’m grateful for the person that I am, for my strength, my beauty, my blessings. But sometimes, I wish I could go back to the way I think I was.
♫ Closing time ♫ Semisonic ♫