She is happy, she is sad.
She is excited, she is afraid.
She is confident, she is scared.
She is loved, she is alone.
She stares with wide eyes at the future, palms open, free... ready to grab onto something belonging to another chapter.
She's hunched over, carrying a backpack... a heavy, worn down backpack, burdened with the baggage of the past. A backpack weighed down with memories, voices escaping the creaks of the pockets, saying things aren't the same.
You aren't the same.
Are things supposed to be the same?
She has no idea who she is, yet every idea who she wants to be.
She has no idea who she wants to be, but she wants to mold that person now. She wants to invest in her. She cares about her. She wants her to care.
She breathes in and out between moments of unbreakable confidence and sheer uncertainty.
The past and the future violently crash, molding into some sort of hurricane, raveling her up - trapping her in moments where she longs for both, but can have neither.
She misses old faces, but realizes they are changing too.
When you leave a place and come back... you realize the feet walking along the same stagnant buildings and same towering trees no longer move in the same rhythm.
But amidst all the change, she is grounded by the love of home, anchored by her own ambition, and driven by the reality that is - tomorrow is another day to grow - to change.
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