Moving

My life is slowly being placed in boxes, some things carefully wrapped, others thrown into boxes with intricate labels because there is no rhyme or reason to their contents. While nothing is set in stone, the plans I have made are incredible – plans to live near the people I love more than I’ll ever be able to express, plans to work passionately, plans to be my own person. I have waited for the day I would live on my own as an adult for as long as I can remember, and I know what they say: “Don’t wish away your time,” or “Adult life is not as fun as it seems.” I’m sure there’s truth to that, but I’m not drawn to the excitement of being on my own; I’m drawn to the mundane: the waking up, making coffee, rubbing my sleepy eyes as I pull clothes out of the dresser; the paying bills, which is proof of hard work and responsibility in my eyes; the cooking and washing of dishes, the scalding water pouring over my pale hands; the opening of my door and letting in friends and neighbors. I know that adult life will be different than what I have imagined over the past 22 years, but I think that it’s important to celebrate the excitement of challenges and decisions and work that all come with being a young adult. So for now, I’m still in limbo, quietly boxing up my life, knowing the celebration is coming.

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hands

reevaluating my hands,

seeing the proof of hard work and

attempts to better myself,

knowing they reach out to

show love in simple, quiet ways with

fingers that hope to hold future promises.