|All rights reserved by Randy P. Martin|
When I was younger there were two of me. There was the Hannah that everyone knew, and the Hannah that no one understood. The two always fought. The one that no one understood would get feisty and try and peak its head out into my daily life, shrinking back to the inside when it realized people wanted none of it.
Now there is only one.
Sometimes I can't figure out if the two merged into one, or if the one that no one understood died. I don't know whether to celebrate or mourn. My memory of the "other" me is so hazy. The lines are so gray and covered with the suspicion that it was all so naive. All I can do is hope for celebration. Hope that that young idealist finally found a voice and a companion in the me everyone knows.