Everyone has their own story.

It’s an incredible thought, one that I fail to truly understand at times.

I could stare and wonder but I will never know it all. I may not know my own story at all.

“Tell me about yourself.”

It is not intended to be an impossible question but yet my throat manages to close as if I am allergic to myself, or as if I am allergic to the difference between myself and the ideal girl I wish stood in the mirror.

A difference so vast that it may only be captured on a timeline or spreadsheet; a plan of action to propel myself to a standard so high that stars wonder if they will reach that point in their lifetime.

“Tell me about yourself.”

A question that eats at me in the darkest hours of the night when my only support is the quiet hum of my fan and the restlessness of the sheets against my legs. The constants that hold my body steady while my mind mentally quakes and my thoughts dissect my past actions to hold me accountable in the court of my own doubt.

There remains no separation between the past, present, and future in the corners of my mind. Every thought, every break, every silence transports me to a moment of crucial importance, an argument two years ago, the homework eagerly waiting in front of me, the dreading fear of the future.

Resting in the silence, in the quiet hours of the night, in the loneliness of the day, every thought rings louder than the last. A life I’ve found peace in.

“Tell me about yourself.”

I live in peace.