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A while back I was talking to my BFF, my BESTIE, my ACE and she left me with words that seemed encouraging to her, but punctured my soul like a two dagger sword. As we chatted over the phone she said to some effect, “…you know, women like us, who always have plans/goals/dreams, but never make anything of ourselves…” She continued to talk, but my ears were deaf. The little women in my mind were going into overdrive trying to process her actual statement, her possible in-between-the-lines statement, and the possibility that maybe, just maybe, I was one of them.

Am I really Langston’s answer to what happens to a Dream Deferred?

Am I festering?

How did I become an immobile procrastinator carrying around bags of treasures that the world has yet to see, and at this rate, probably will never see?

Lord help me, but it was true. I hated to admit to myself that I let the little girl, who I once was, down. I did not become the person I wanted to be. I did not allow my passions to blossom. If she could look at me, she would be shocked, more than that, she would be hurt. Tears swell in my eyes as I remember her. The girl who knew the sky was the limit and that her capabilities made her desires possible–within reach, no matter how grandiose they seemed.

As my friend talked, I wondered why my life was here and not there?? What has stalled me? When did that girl die?young me

I don’t know when I became complacent. I don’t know how I talked myself out of “being myself”.

What I do know is, although I may not be that same girl, she is still apart of me and what she wanted has not died, it’s just lost. Now, at 27 it is my job to find my lost pieces, pair them with pieces I’ve picked up as I’ve journeyed through life and come up with great picture that we both can be satisfied with.

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