metamorphosis
it was her first day as a twenty-two year old and she promised herself that things would be different this year. the past seven or so years blended together into a massive blob of “shit” (as she liked to refer to them), so here she was, on the morning of her twenty-second birthday, sitting at the edge of brooklyn with her arms wrapped around her knees while watching the sunrise (she had semi-stolen the idea from watching “lola vs. the world”). she had told herself — and naively convinced herself — for years that things would be different; but, it was seven years later and she had barely changed in the slightest. it wasn’t that her life was in shambles, though she might have overdramatized that fact a bit too much and convinced herself that it was a bit too often. it was more so that she had a vision of herself in her head and she still wasn’t that vision of herself despite her best attempts. she watched the sunrise fervently, waiting for an a-ha moment that would signify that “yes, this year would be different”, but it never really came. the sunrise was beautiful, there was no question about it; it was magnificent and exquisite, probably one of the most incredible sunrises she had witnessed — yet she still felt empty. after the sky started to become more of its morning blue color, she sighed and convinced herself to head home.
as she neared her apartment door, she paused for a moment and stared down at the welcome mat below her sandals. she had waited desperately for a sign that was never going to come. if she wanted to be someone else, she had to start on her own and not stop for any reason. she had to be her own catalyst for her metamorphosis.
— n.d.