My head bangs up against the decisions of my future and the
regret of my past as the rain washes away the sting of today. I long for the day when I can look back and say, “I am
thrilled with the way things turned out” (if i make it there). Robert Frost claims one thing where I
hope for another, this road I am on, has been traveled on, many times before,
but why does it feel like the ghosts have vanished and left me to think all by
myself in the oceanic abyss of my future decisions.
There I am, five years old, wearing a flower printed dress
with my hair in a mess and my hand placed softly in the crevasse of my mom and
brothers hand. My safety and security does not escape me, it is all in the
tangible feelings of their hands. There I am, thirteen years old, in a mini
skirt and tank top cut too low for the size of my blossoming body and my hair
is neatly straightened, I am holding the hand of a boy, Landon. I thought this
was love, I thought this was safety. Here I am, nineteen years old, holding no one’s
hand. My sense of security is not found in an individual, I can no longer be
protected by the warm hand and gentle heart of any individual. My security is
placed in my future, the unwinding and unforgiving mystery of the word. My security
has evolved and changed. My heart has broken and mended. My body has grown and
matured.
My future is held in my heart, my entirety is based on the
lessons I have had to learn. this is growing up, this is learning.
