honesty

My name is Julia. My middle name is Erin. I don’t like definitions or when people try to define me. I am too many words, too many phrases, too many emotions. I like the sound of the ocean waves when they flip over each other in a race to hit the shore. I like the feeling of someone whispering secrets into my ear. I’ll carry them with me forever – your secrets – I won’t ever let them out. I am very quiet. I tend to let opportunities pass me by. I have my mother’s eyes and my father’s smile. I underestimate myself. I love a boy who makes me feel special but he doesn’t know. I’ve grown to love my freckles and pale skin. I love when people surprise me. I’ve lost pieces of me that I will never get back. I’ve dropped them in the souls of other people – people I’ve met, people I’ve loved. I have a story. It’s long. And, honestly, I’m not sure I’m ready to tell it. Honesty is something I’ve always admired. I hate when toast is too dark on one side and too light on the other. I hate when the pages of books are folded or torn. That’s someone’s story – folded and torn. Sometimes I feel as if I’ll fall apart so I wrap my arms around my legs and hold myself together. I always want to sing. I sing when I wake up and when I’m trying to fall asleep. Quietly. I love the feeling of having stage lights, hot as the sun, burning down on me. I love being alone under the covers with a brand new book. I love the smell of a burning campfire but I’ve never been camping. I fainted yesterday morning. I hate not being in control of things. Sometimes I go too far. I like oatmeal with cinnamon and strawberries. I’ll always want to be a mermaid. I have trouble accepting complements. I collect keys because they remind me that there are so many doors yet to be opened. I can be dramatic sometimes. I live with anxiety. If I had a cat I would name her Millie. If I had one wish I’d wish to see myself through the eyes of others. I look in the mirror too often. I check things too many times. I’ll never be perfect. I have a hard time accepting that. I’ve hit the bottom. I am trying to climb back up. There is a huge gap in this story. Something about me I'm keeping inside. It's hard to let out. I fear it will define me if I tell you. I’ll tell you all about it one day. I promise. And promises, like secrets, are something I keep. But, honestly, I’m just not ready yet.

Done