Small and simple things sigh in final recognized satisfaction. Me, noticing each glimmer of tender evidence that there is a covert world wrapping its arms around my soiled and dried-out heart. Every day I meet people and then I go home. And I lay in bed. And I cry. Because I've arrived somewhere. Somewhere I only knew of from my dreams. This is a place I got used to waking up from. 

I wonder if I put on just how soft of a person I am. I'm like a summer fruit. Unable to bare another cold shoulder. Promise turned upside down. You don't know that I'm a big sister. If you do, then you don't know what it means to me. Arm's length. That is where you are. 

Being this age means I am wrong about everything, and I am saying it out loud each time I am. 

I feel newborn. Feeling air in my lungs after winter.