1. 23
    Feb

    the next 13 inches

    Last night I found myself crawling in my childhood bed, in my sister’s vacant room. For some reason it was incredibly soothing to be among my old, worn furniture. Maybe I needed something to cling to among a time of so many personal changes and unknowns. I am graduating college in four weeks, and the unanswered questions about my future are exciting some days; daunting and nauseating others. Where will I take the car/train/bus/cab to at 8:45 every morning? What building will I visualize when someone says “home”? Who of my current roommates will I be able to apply the same title to next year? If any? The day prior to this I got 13 inches of my hair cut off. Strands that have been with me since I was collecting beanie babies and listening to Backstreet Boys. Strands that never knew the unnecessary fears of Y2K and very real fear of 9/11. Laying in my old bed I became dizzy with apprehension over where I’ll be when the next 13 inches comes off. I needed a past part of me to cling to, even if it came in the form of mattress. An ounce of stability. 

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