I suppose I am a young girl looking for my everything. One girl on Instagram found hers in a boy called Sam. My classmate found hers in Renaissance Art History. My neighbor found his in a Gibson guitar. I just can’t figure out where mine lies. Is it in a boy or an area of study or a creative release, or is it in something else I haven’t even considered? How will I find it, how will I reach that sense of peace and completion?
I wonder if my everything might lie in, well, everything. What if I can only define myself with the people in my family and the foods I like to eat and the socks I wear and the music I listen to and the way my head always falls to the right when I sleep and the coconut smell of my lotion that seems to stick to all of my clothes and sheets? What if my everything isn’t something I need to break my back searching for, because it’s already there?
I think I want to consider my everything found, and begin living in a way that I feel complete. My everything may change with time—actually, I hope it does—but for now, I do not need to find any one thing to make me, me.
I am my orange comforter and the trees across my window and the tea I drink when I’m sad and the little spin I do in the hallway when there’s nobody around and I’m listening to a funny song.
I am my sister’s freckle on the back of her neck and I am my best friends’ random texts in our group chat. I am the tooth-brushing route I use every single time and I am the wrinkles on my parents’ foreheads.
I love all of these things that make up my everything, even the ones that seem insignificant or trivial. And if I love all of that, I guess I love myself too. In fact, I know that.
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