So much has happened since I moved. One subject in particular I'm skirting like the plague. I don't wanna think about it. I don't want to think it happened. I don't want to accept that.

Denial is so much easier.

I feel this aching inside. Pain, mourning, loneliness, angst, but this divine depth of passion and restless rebellion.

There are two "me"s. The one that wants to curl into my blankets and never get up, the seven year old little girl that was scared of the things under the bed and cried whenever her mommy left. The little girl that screamed at spiders and was terrified of boys and being left alone, ever. The terrified, paranoid, lonely little girl I try my best to keep locked up inside me.

And then there's this other me, the girl that somehow convinced her parents to take her to NY to meet a man she didn't know. The girl that (he insists) kissed him FIRST. The girl that dances like a dork because she likes to, singing at the top of her lungs with the radio. The girl that cussed out a boy for picking on a friend. The girl that made her best friend's nose bleed when she was eight. The passionate outspoken fiery spirit that I like most in me.

I feel trapped inside my own body. How do you break chains of flesh and bone?

I ache for the sunshine, I ache to be held at night, I ache for the soft purring motor of my cat, I ache to be that girl I loved. I miss her. I miss myself. That sparkling passionate girl. I hate when she leaves.

Let the rain pour down and wash away all that I've become. Let the flowers bloom in my heart and the sweet smell of ocean air cleanse my soul. Give me back my other half. Give me back who I am.

I hope I can write it out the way it needs to be. The way that will do it justice. I need to honor my memories.

I'm just left this sad, scared little girl, and I just want my kitty...