My seventeen year old self would walk right past me on the street and not recognize me, and sometimes I wonder if I ever was that beautiful, sunny person.
If my seventeen year old self could see me now, she’d be very surprised. This isn’t how I imagined being twenty-five would be at all. I really believed that by twenty-five I would be a full-fledged adult with my life thoroughly together, probably even married, and with a baby on the way.
Somehow that hasn’t happened yet, and in a few hours, I will be six years into my twenties without a fucking clue what I am doing or where I am going with my life.