Golden brown hair cascades down her shoulders
In rivulets of a sand-storm future
And her dusty brown eyes outlined in charcoal
Pierce through your mind as if she knows what you’re thinking.
She has so much promise yet so much is left unknown;
It’s hard to say who you want to be seen as
When you aren’t even sure who you truly are yourself.
Who is she?
Is she the late night poems she wrote when
The boy in her math class finally found the courage
To hold her hand?
Or the prick of frost the permeating snow
Gave her toes that one December morning
At the Christmas tree farm?
Or maybe the tears that streamed down her face
Every time her best friend traveled those
Two thousand three hundred eighty-eight miles away from her?
No one knows what defines a person
And I don’t think
You can decide that for yourself;
Ultimately, who you are is defined
By the millions of seemingly insignificant things in your life,
Like those words inked on lined paper that still haunt your memory,
Or those frostbitten boots in the back of your closet,
Or the sleepless nights spent missing her while she’s on a seven hour flight.
These things seem to be significant after all.