Echoed footsteps on cold tile
and sisterly giggles filling the murky summer air.
“Augie slow down! Your legs are toooo looooong.”
Listen closely and you can hear the salt water pool splashing and circulating, only a window away.
Breathe deeply and you can taste it.
You can count the people we’ve loved by the freckles on our shoulders
and hear the constellations in our laughter.
A logastellus, a nepenthe, and a rantipole.
We are young
and filled with viridity and redamancy
and nothing will stop us from filling rooms with the light in our eyes our father gave us.
We make homes under blanket fort kingdoms
on the kitchen floor
in the ant hills
and in one another’s arms.
We are vivacious.
hours have passed and years have begun to feel like moments.
Days now feel like a fleeting breath where they used to be endless.
I have been weathered and scarred and beaten down
but I am wiser and stronger and more resilient than I could have ever hoped.
I have grown into a woman I know of which my mother would radiate pride
and for that,
I am proud.
My hair may be a few hues darker
and my eyes greener
but I still have that same Floridian sun smile
and Boston winter laugh.
I still dance in thunderstorms,
turning my pink converse brown
and yell song lyrics out the window onto open highways.
I am still utterly vivacious
and by my name’s damn meaning,
completely and entirely passionate, down to my core.
I have erred more times than I can tally
And I will continue to
but I will never make the same mistake twice.
I once played Judas
and I once fell when I should have flown
but those instances will never repeat themselves.
My mother taught me to own what I have done
and my father taught me to never commit the same fault twice.
I have grown and am still growing
reaching to the sun in which I find my mother’s arms.
I still remain the same as I was in pigtails and playgrounds
but I am simultaneously revolutionized.
May this growing be everlasting.