growing up

Her. She's the girl. It's that girl who graciously welcomed you lovely beans to her blog, that one who offered you a tea and company as you sat before the screen. You see her sometimes still, emerging from wherever she hides when they smile, jump up, tilt sideways, arms out like they're showing off a balancing act on the curb, greeting you with a high-pitched, cheery "hi!"
She hadn't made half as many bad decisions as they have, and in her eyes you can see that what she'll have ended up doing in the future would probably be the last thing on her mind, if she can even fathom such decisions at all.
She hadn't yet walked a Valentine's day through rain in rolling Frisco, soaking her hair completely, wearing red but wondering why all the flower shops were so full when all she wanted to do was buy herself a gift, forgetting the day, ignoring the love. Hell, she hadn't even walked past the asphalt yet the week before, just to learn it'd ended through another friend. She hadn't yet felt the warm tap on her shoulder that day in the warmer library, heard the scream-whispered happy birthday that set her heart alight again, even if only slightly. She hadn't yet set her foot down and cut the ties, set the music down, then turned it up, then cried.
But she did know the cold hallway before Cinderella when true love was dashed to smithereens. There was no rushing, no loss of a shoe. Just tense pacing, then out the door it was, putting one shoe on after the next. She did know the deafening crash of two calving, caving glaciers in Alaska and briny seawater carving disorienting waves into her vision as she tried to play lifering, fighting against the current.
And that's who you saw long ago, maybe even who you loved. But she's only part of what you see now.