I was feeling nostalgic, so here’s a little creative depth for you guys…
Sometimes, when I’m walking through campus or by the skyscrapers downtown or in the trendy lobby of my residence hall, when I’m rushed and caught up in my life, I catch a glimpse of something, of someone I’m supposed to know. It’s the strangest sensation. I see this girl everywhere and I have no idea who she is. I must have known her once, met her somewhere, shared something in common. But then something must have shifted or maybe just been lost.
In my bones, I know that I’m at an in-between in my life and maybe that’s why I can’t remember her. I’m at some pivotal moment of whatever course it is that I have chosen. Of what the moment is, I have no idea. It’s like that girl that I see. I’m so close to knowing who she is, what part she plays in my life, but no matter what, I can’t think of what she means to me. She’s everywhere, but I don’t know her, not anymore. There was some point when I forgot her. Life changes like that, I guess.
The funny thing is, I remember the strangest details of the place where I grew up. I remember how it smelled after it rained. I remember my fingers running over the bark of the trees I used to climb. I remember standing on a weathered wharf at four in the morning, wrapped in a blanket, watching the fog roll off the lake as if the water was sighing into the cold for the sun to warm it. I remember all that, but I can’t remember <em>her</em>. It makes me angry. Not that I don’t know who she is, but that she let me forget her even though I know it’s not that simple.
Sometimes, I stop and look at that girl. Stare at her, really. I’m supposed to know her, but I don’t, so I look into her eyes, begging for her to reveal who she once was as if that will help me decide who I am, but she never speaks, she only stares back, each blue fleck a direct likeness of mine, every rise and fall of her chest a reminder of the life I do not live, cannot live, now. And then I know that she is me, but I am not her.
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