everyone needs time to let go.

it almost seems like yesterday-
or maybe it was,
it's hard to separate fiction from life
but when was that ever a problem?

remember the picture,
childish innocence and wonder
masquerading as a mature little girl
in braided hair and a pink dress,
and she didn't care about, let alone notice
the carelessness she possessed,
the lack of worry that characterized her;
she had no idea.

remember the diary,
confessions of a melodramatic preteen
afflicted with puppy love
at what she speculated was
the lowest point she could reach,
overflowing with lines of confusion
and sometimes unforeseen rapture
because he smiled at her that day.

remember the mirror,
reflecting the tears of a scarred teenage catastrophe,
differentiated by absolutely zero,
imperfect in every imaginable way,
lamenting into a patterned pillow,
weeping tears she knew she'd never divulge-
there is always room for growth.

beholding her own musings,
it has taken her years
to fathom what some never apprehend.

everyone needs time

to hold on.