Who Are You?

I'm the girl who wants to get in a car and drive with the windows down in gorgeous weather, drive until the landscape is completely foreign, but it only takes 30 minutes until the road ends in Juneau.

I’m the girl who set fire to her hair by accident because she tilted her head back into a candle while laughing, and then she laughed some more because she thought someone farted, but no one did. It was the smell of her hair burning.

I’m the girl who went through six years of Sunday school only to refuse her confirmation because she did not believe she should commit when there was so much of the world left to learn.

I’m the girl whom a ghost befriended in the Philippines and she frightened her cousins so much they would go home during sleepovers because she would sit up in bed at midnight and start talking to her invisible friend.

I’m the girl who dropped out of college because of borderless Mozambiquan smiles.

I’m the girl who pilgrimaged to Jim Morrison’s grave in Pierre Lachaise, her way of paying her respects for a boy who had strung himself up in a dirty basement and stepped off a chair. She did not know him nearly so well until after he killed himself, and after this, she vowed to know better those people she cared about and not let any friends live unacknowledged.

I’m the girl who holds solitude to be sacred, but being alone leaves her floundering.
I'm the girl who never smiled for pictures until she was 11.
I'm the girl a San Francisco city hall official tried to intimidate, not realizing that she was a girl who did not take threats sitting down.

I’m the girl that wants to write a book called, “Fuck you Damien and Your Small Town Dreams”.

I’m the girl that would have married you if she were a little older or you were a little younger, but then you would never have met at all.

I’m the girl that still believes in magic.

I’m the girl that dived off cliffs in Greece but can’t swim so she had to ask a boy in front of her to wait and take her hand after she jumped.

I’m the girl who pretends she hates clichés but would give anything to hear, “If I could, I wouldn’t ever let you go.”

I’m the girl that teachers trusted because she was an honors student and got impeccable grades so it took the school 7 months to finally punish her for having a 20% attendance record her senior year.

I’m the girl who, during that said year, went to only one class in the entire month of October which happened to be when the yearbook photographer took her picture, and when it was published, the caption read, “Studying hard in AP European History”. She would have bought the yearbook just for that piece of irony alone but she didn’t want to bring anything familiar with her when she moved away.

I’m the girl who wants to love you but knows the only way she can, is not to.
Who are you?