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  • Writer's pictureJessica Urlichs

Meeting Me

I couldn’t tell you where I went in those early days.

That girl of yesterday.

Like an old jersey lost.

I was always misplacing things, my mind, conversations, sleep.

I wasn’t rushing quite so much, my old tornado had turned into a quiet breeze and with it, I brought new life, two in fact.

Even the shower felt new, the spray would sting in places. I would turn on all angles just so I could find one that fit.

I became one with the couch, feeding for hours, wondering how this could make me so exhausted. My mind ticking over, not always so friendly.

Missing my husband.

Missing me.

Loving every single thing about the little person in my arms.


I remember the distinct difference I felt leaving the house with him, almost strangely more confident, like an armour of sorts. A different kind of purpose.

And then without him, a naked vulnerability, a skip in my step but a conflict in my heart.

One time as I left a friends house I decided I wasn’t as witty as I used to be and I wondered how something like that just leaves you. Or perhaps it doesn’t.

Maybe I was just overthinking it all.

Maybe I was just tired.

Maybe I was thinking of him.

In the evenings I searched for a reflection that made sense and I would always see the two of us.

I had become the springtime growth, made up of him too.

I hadn’t left.

Time was just holding its breath.

And I was wandering through its exhale.

On the way to meet myself.

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