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The girl that used to write.

The girl that didn’t care about your callousness.

The girl that loved daisies but thought other flowers are plain ugly and irritating.

The girl that found lady bugs a work of art.

The girl that loved wheat fields.

The girl that thought one day she’d write like Mufasa.

Play like Fischer.

The girl that was inspired by Archer and Sheldon.

No one felt it but she felt her writing healed her.

Her form of therapy.

Her little escape.

The girl that no longer writes.

The girl that chose to cover her eyes from the light at the end of the tunnel.

I miss that girl.

I am that girl.