That person

I am the person who sits next to you from 11 to 11:51 on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. I am always early. I never show up.

I am the person who wears the yellow sweatshirt. The person who sits on the knoll, maybe waiting. I am the person who uses an umbrella when it snows, or doesn’t, and I am the person whose feet shuffle on the floor above yours.

I am the person you never saw after first year. The person you’ve been following on Instagram ever since. We have never met. I am your best friend.

I am also the person who flickers with uncertainty. The person who has always known what she wants to be. The person who thinks so, at least. I am the person with the overbearing parents, or the overbearing self doubt. I am the person whose everything is never enough.

I am the person who jokes about deadlines and I am the person who never sleeps. I am the person who raises her hand in every class and has extensions on every paper. I am the person who is supposed to learn. I am the person who is supposed to teach. I am the person who relishes solitude only when it is a choice.

I am the person who replies, “Good, you?” when asked about last weekend. I am the person who slept in these clothes. Who wishes her mom’s calls lasted longer. I am the person whose words and selective silence build the very walls that break her. I am the person who never texted back. “Oh, fine.”

I am the person from that party. The person who skateboards down hills. I am the person who held the door open for you, whose ponytail is the only identifier you will ever see. I am the person whose eyelashes you will never forget.

I am the person who just started here, who just transferred, who just graduated.

And I am that person, too.

Post-concussion, I found balance through bullet journaling and relaxation apps

Washed out

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