A Poem

Every memory is a ghost and the house they haunt is you. 

26 year old me is gone from the world, but echos of her remain. Whispering to me to remember what it feels like for the whole world to shift. For the center of my gravity to become this new, beautiful human I created. 

The 23-year-old urging me to hold on to that feeling of love and elation. To carry it into all the years of my marriage.

The 17-year-old begging me to understand and let go. 

I am no longer those women. They no longer exist. 

But I hear their footsteps in the attic…

walking where I can’t;

walking where I will join them;

in the memory of a future me.