sometimes i needed to read in the middle of the night to fall back to sleep from bad dreams, and i had to see if i could do it without rushing into my parents room, my urgent footsteps pressing onto the hard floors.
i didn’t get my first kiss until i was just on the brink of 16,
and i didn’t take the jump at 24 until all the signs were shining like neon lights in times square, blatantly shouting for me to finally look.
after college graduation, i didn’t transition like the ripples that move along the stream;
i flailed about, amidst ideals and pragmatics, trying to fit, and i’m still figuring it all out, even now.
maybe i really am a late bloomer,
maybe i do take my time, wanting to be ready, even if we can never fully be ready.
but maybe, really pretty flowers take a long time to bloom, too.