I remember just who I was

Watching the road bounce up and down before me with the glazed morning sky unfolding, I let everything be what it wants. From the side I see everybody in their back to school rush. I remember just how that felt.
I was the smell of the inside of a new lunchbox, nicely hung uniforms and waiting at the bus stop, I was timid, blue, frightened of the new teacher, scared into silence, maybe I’d disappear. I was that top button always buttoned, hot recess sun and plastic chairs, spelling books and flashcards. I was jumpers, skorts, shorts and stressed parents, new beginnings and the start of a long year. I was a migrant, a pair of eyes without a mouth, a body for granted, thinking about my cat at home, I was applesauce and turkey rolls, macaroni and cheese, new black shoes, button downs, and wishing for the window seats. I was the face in the window of the school bus, ordinary time, the rut of a routine, smiling face, empty heart and dirty fingernails. I was a little backpack with just one book, a note, a name, and a number, I was had to pee, a coin in a wishing well, and wondering about my sister.

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