In The Event This Doesn't Fall Apart

by Shannon Lee Barry

You are my deja-vu. An echo of the person I had imagined for myself. Will he be kind? Yes. Will he be smart? More than most and as much as you. And will he listen, will he understand me, will he know? Yes and yes and to a fault— and best of all, he will be better than your imaginings. There are things, little girl, that you cannot dream up.

What is special about this is that you highlight what is special in me— things I used to hide away as flaws now feel valuable again. I used to love myself so much— every quirk and irritating mannerism, and slowly throughout life they were pointed out to me as difficult, tiresome, negative. But you call me an easy thing.

I want to be thought of by you as often as you occur to me. I want to be wondered about as often as I wonder; I want you to read Desiderata because it’s my favorite and you’re excavating for some corner of my soul. I want you to be curious for me. I’m curious about everything about you.

And sometimes while I’m there I’ll sit down with your idea of me. She looks like me but prettier, her features more defined. Kinder and more soft and always forgivable. She is me but in my best light, the way you always see me.