By: Lilah Sanchez
There are memories trapped in places we’ve stopped looking. My soccer cleats collect dust in the corner of my closet. Clothes I don’t wear anymore, shoved in a trash bag. A perfume I used to wear that somehow still carries memories from that one summer. It’s strange how simple things can hold on to an entire version of myself. I still use that small, yellow recipe card I made, written in cursive, when I bake cookies. It’s not that I’ve forgotten the ingredients. Rather, I prefer the comfort of knowing that I’m not messing anything up. I try to avoid Opal Avenue. Not because anything has changed, but because I have. I’m holding on tightly because I don’t want to let go. But I can’t return to the person I once was. From the outside, I might not seem different, but my head feels much clearer. I think that’s how I know I’ve changed.
