Everything I have ever loved has had a previous owner. I carry the treasures of others securely in the crook of my arm and pretend they’re mine. A jacket my father stained with sweat around the collar and cuffs. A pendant given to my sister made of onyx and gold. Field guides from thrift stores with inscriptions and bookmarks and cramped annotations. These are my pickings. Stolen nostalgia is piling up around me. It’s warming me through the winter, but I want to find my own way out. When will I begin creating my own trail of artifacts? Who will want to exhume my spirit?
Raging optimism will always be my one, true vice. Don’t get me wrong. I love sarcastic quips and a good, salty smirk. My eyes were born to throw daggers. Deep down, however, my body runs on the naive confidence of a young girl that knows everything will turn out just fine. Whether I leave this body tomorrow or 80 years from now, I will always believe two things. 1). People, as a whole, are inherently good. We all have a drive to be better individuals for the people around us. 2). The world is beautiful. I am not afraid to die and become part of it again. My body will decompose and return to the cycle of life itself. I will not be alive, but part of me will go on to be used by the most wondrous system. I can’t fathom the secrets of the universe or the meaning of life, but I know everything’s gonna be alright.