Deep inside me, there is a girl I cannot reach. I see glimpses of her in sunsets – pink, orange and peach.

There is something mysterious about her, a whimsy to which I am drawn. I hear her calling out to me in the mesmerizing melodies of a familiar song.

I sense her trying to touch me in the crisp, soft breeze of the autumn air. Thoughts of her fill my heart with so much joy – and so much sadness – I can’t even bear.

I recognize her in poems and lyrics so poignant, I almost think they were written just for me. Words strewn together to paint a picture of someone that maybe, just maybe I could be.

I think maybe I used to know her. She’s so familiar. I must have. Maybe I met her in the schoolyard playing tag? Or maybe I took her for walks in the woods on long summer days?

Or maybe I never really knew her except through the eyes of another?

But no, that’s impossible. She’s inside of me, not you.

But maybe, just maybe, when things are buried deep, it takes another to reach inside and pull out the beauty that was always right there.