I am a patchwork quilt of memories. A hodgepodge of people.

Tucked into the corners of my mind, occupying a permanent spot, are the people who shape my everyday decisions, stitched into my daily rituals.

Like the spiritual aunt who I’m reminded of every time the clock strikes 11:11, or the boy who first complimented me – whose words I replay in my head like ran old cassette tape catching on its reel.

I am a broken jukebox of haphazard thoughts and inspirations. The senior girl from my school who gave a life-changing speech that has stuck with me for years, or the 12th grader overachiever guy whose name is stamped across every school magazine and post. Or maybe, the stranger in the washroom who complimented my hair that day. All of these people have stuck with me, their faces and words folded and cached between the pages of books.

And now, the boy who haunts my thoughts, whose face alone leaves my lips hitching up in a smile, or whose laughter envelops me like the sun of a summer day. His is a ghost I cannot escape – a phantom occupying every moment of my life.

Maybe that’s the truth of it: we we are never just ourselves. We are a gallery of the people we’ve loved, admired, envied, or simply brushed past. They write themselves into our margins, even when we think the page is ours alone.

Yours truly,
Divi