I met my younger self for coffee, 
we were both 10 minutes late. 
She tells me there was traffic 
and I chuckle because I know there wasn’t. 
She doesn’t know I just got there, too, so I tell her. 
She smiled at me with comfort; we’re both perpetually late, it seems. 

She orders a vanilla iced coffee with cream and liquid sugar, 
I get an iced latte with almond milk. 
She tells me she’s hungover, and she’s wearing sunglasses, 
I just finished my morning run with my dog; I told her I hadn’t had a drink in years. 
She asks if we can sit outside so she can smoke,
I agree because I still vape. 
She exhales, and I can feel the anger inside of her. 
I reach for her hand across the table to suggest that peace is around the corner, but she moves hers away. She’s so closed off and I recognize the pain she is hiding behind the dark circles under her eyes, disguised as a fun night out. 

Her voice cracks as she tells me she doesn’t know the girl looking back at her in the mirror, and I tell her that girl isn’t as bad as she seems. She just hasn’t found a safe place to put down the pain she’s been carrying. “Give her some grace,” I plead.

She tells me about the toxic guy she knows it won’t work out with, 
Sighing that she will never meet someone that truly sees her. 
I smile and reassure her. She will, and he is better than anything she could’ve imagined. 

She says she wants to move to a new city and get a dog, and I show her pictures of Marla, and tell her that moving out of my hometown was the best thing I ever did. 
She says she loves her job, and I told her I gave up my career to move and I am still figuring it out. 
She looks at me with scared eyes and says she hates change. 
I smile and say, “me too, but it always turns out okay.”

Style Score:100%

I walked into the shelter looking for a friend. I wanted a small dog because I thought I would be one of those girls to carry my dog around in my purse everywhere. I walked around and all the dogs were barking and running around their little enclosures. I stumbled upon you. They called you Oreo because you were black and white. You were curled up in a little ball, not barking, not excited. I thought, “she’s small.” I asked to see you more than through the bars of your enclosure. You stood up as I approached you and I noticed you were a little bigger than I thought. I didn’t mind, you were a gem. Coincidentally, you had a white diamond centered in the middle of the black fur on the back of your neck. We played and you seemed so happy now that you weren’t trapped in there. My little pit bull, so sweet, so sad and so sick. I decided I would take you home. For weeks you were on medication. You were coughing, so much snot was coming out of your nose. I diligently took you to your doctor’s appointments. I was worried and I hoped you would make it through this. Eventually you did. You became so strong and muscular. I wondered how since we went on the same walks, and my legs didn’t look like that. You were now 50 pounds, a long way from the dog that came in as a stray. People say, “it’s so nice that you rescued a dog.” No one ever said how nice it was of her to rescue me. I didn’t keep the name Oreo, you were a Marla Ann. You’re a diva. You sleep with more pillows than people do. You give people the side eye that are acting up. Bikes and skateboards make you feel on edge. You smile when you’re excited. You are always so happy to see me. You always want to cuddle with me, you comfort me when I am sad, when I am cold and when I am happy. You taught me how to be selfless, how to care about something other than myself. I was starting to slip before I found you. You keep me company when I’m lonely, you motivate me when I feel lazy. I may have given you a house to live in, but you made my house a home. I am so grateful for you, thanks for rescuing me.

When I realized he could see me,
the way I use humor as a distraction.
The way I crave love,
even though I hide from the world.
When he lovingly pointed out the parts of me
that I thought I’ve been hiding so well,
I melted.
I feel naked,
I feel seen.
Being seen is better than being loved.
Many men will have loved me by this time,
the version of me they’ve created in their head.
For that reason, it’s always been a dead end.
Few people have really seen me.
Most see what they want to see,
what they want me to be
what they thought I could be,
if I was just a little less stubborn.

This is different.
This is real and raw.
That’s what I saw.