silhouette

For most of my teenage life, I’ve been forced to look back by my subconscious. The reminiscing is evermore and I am miniscule compared to the spool of unruly taffy-like thoughts. Through the taffy, I see the silhouette of me through the years, grasping onto the tangles of who I want to be. I reach out to these silhouettes but my hands go through them like they're ghosts. I see the fifteen-year-old me hiding behind a tall object which seems to be a taller, similar being. I look closely and realise it resembles me, it is me. Me at seventeen. I look different, curls bounce past my shoulder. There are different seasons of growing up. Being fifteen reminds me of summer; it reminds me of my mom feeding me an intricately cut watermelon after I've had a long day in the pool. My skin has pruned, and the redness resembles the fruit, I think to myself how I could be so delicate to have been pierced by something so beautiful. By this age, I had lost my first friend and was thinking about the piercing. My skin changes over the seasons. It has become rougher; it doesn't prune anymore. I can tell I’ve put more effort into my appearance, but I look excited to see what will become of me, to learn things and love them as they come. By seventeen, clouds form over my head. Slow raindrops, as if preparing for a storm, hover above me, following me as I go, reminding me of the ghost that once was. Strangely, that year, I will learn I am just a museum of the people I have grown into. Untitled portraits hang on the walls of my heart, and I am taken over by the feeling of gratitude. I am twenty now; this feeling will continue to surge over me. I look different now; I'm no longer the fifteen-year-old girl hiding behind the silhouette, but she tells me to remember her. I am now the silhouette standing before me with great matter and care for people. Flowers have bloomed, and a new season is forthcoming, this time I am standing tall before it.