Sometimes she missed the girl she used to be. Back when the years stretched so far in front of her she could not see their end. Before she wounded and before scars altered her vision. ⁣
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She had a small bottle of scented water she kept in her dresser drawer, one she used to wear a long time ago. She would take it out, hold it to her face and remember the books she used to read, the the jokes she laughed at, her dreams in their unaffected state.⁣
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She wondered if she me that girl now, would they be friends? Would she despise her for her enthusiasm or admire her for the same? ⁣
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Would she recognize her as a part of her very being or would she greet her as a stranger?⁣
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For all of us, we used to be someone else.