I Remember. 

I remember who I was. 

As a little girl and as a young woman.

I’ve always been a free spirit.

I was the one sitting on the swings in college, journal and pen in hand, and gazing dreamily up at the clouds peacefully swirling gently across the sky.

The daydreamer. 

The romantic.

Smiling at the flowers. 

Pocahontas talking to the trees. 

Singing out loud, 

Not caring if anyone heard me. 

Imaginative. 

Getting lost in books of make-believe worlds that became real to me. 

Imagining of living in Middle Earth, where elves and hobbits were no myth or legend. 

I’m an Adventurer. 

I’m the one who thinks “too much”. 

Who feels “too much”. 

The one who loves deeply with all of her heart, 

And yet fears to love with everything, 

Afraid of losing that which she loves. 

I’m the little girl who played with dolls, 

And also made mud-pies baked in the sun, 

And climbed trees bare foot. 

I’m a dreamer.

A wanderer. 

A traveler. 

A lover of the mystery. 

Of new. 

New places.

New faces. 

Stories. 

Tell me your story, please, 

And I’ll tell you mine. 

I have a way of laughing

That makes my nose crinkle 

And I sometimes even snort 

When something really makes me laugh.

 

I’m a believer.

In Magic. 

In miracles. 

In dreams coming true. 

“Remember who you are,”

Mufasa, with love, sternly reminds his son, Simba, 

In “The Lion King”. 

That scene has always been so powerful to me.

God, with love, sternly reminds me, 

“Remember who you are,”

As I gaze up at the clouds again. 

Maybe I’ve forgotten, along the way.

Because, well, Life. 

Life happened. 

Somewhere along the journey, 

The hard stuff happened. 

The pain. The loss. The fight. The battle. 

The trauma. The broken heart.

 

“Look harder…” 

Rafiki told Simba as he looked into the water. 

Look harder, 

And you’ll see her again. 

You’ll catch glimpses, 

Of You. 

The you before all the pain. 

She’s still there. 

I don’t see her all the time. 

But, I remember. 

The dreamer, the gypsy, the romantic, care-free spirit. 

Who would love to get caught up in the rain, 

And dance, 

And laugh so hard 

That that crinkle nose can be seen again. 

Who dreams of a wildflower wreath on her head, 

Her hair blowing in the wind

As she rides bare-back on a horse. 

A horse that is just as wild and free

As she is. 

I Remember. 

I remember who I was. 

I am still all those things.

 

I will not forget.