This spot holds so many ghosts. That bridge. That pier. It knew a Jessi I no longer do. The last time we saw each other was about 12 years ago. Before I knew what heroin tasted like. Before I knew that narcissism was something to run from. Before I knew I could love something that was only 2ft tall.
I’m sitting here, 27 years old. Got here in my own car that I bought myself. Waiting for the man I’m going to marry to get out of work. And I’m sitting here, thinking about the time I accidentally caught a boat off of that pier. The thousands of jellyfish I would see floating by that caught the rays of light from my little flashlight.
You can’t stop growth. You can’t stop trauma.
What you can do is pick up those pieces, mash them together, and create a new picture.
You control your life, make it a good one.
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