The opinions expressed in this article are the writer’s own and do not reflect the views of Her Campus.
My past self sits in the next room over,
just through the open doorway.
Somehow I stand at the threshold,
my feet, boards, amongst the wooden floors,
unable to be pried up. My eyes burn
as if my tears have dried up, but
the pool behind them is still full.
I want to drown that room in them,
throw bucket after bucket in,
hauling out my own sinking ship
until she can swim
and float over within my reach.
I would clutch her cold arms
and pull her to my heart,
holding her to me
like a newborn baby.
As though she may just
slip away, like the past year has
dissipated into a space in my head.
There are no memories there,
only the sudden realization that
I am someone new.
Who I was sits in that empty room.
I am no longer her,
but she has become me,
but still I cannot see
how that came to be.
It all feels like some dream
that I wake up remembering,
but as soon as I rise from bed,
it’s gone just as quickly.
Where did the past year go,
and how can I ever know
that I will be okay?