I'm from dirt-streaked fingers and grass-stained knees, 
from skateboards lined up against the fence. 
I exist in the in-between, 
accompanied by cricket songs,  
my backyard endless, 
too young to be trusted with certainty, 
too old to feign ignorance. 
 
They call it growing up, 
but it feels more like erosion– 
I trace the past in calloused palms, 
hands that knew the sting of gravel, 
knees that wore the stories of summer falls– 
shedding versions of myself 
before I have the chance to know them. 
 
My childhood lingers in the corners of my room, 
dog-eared storybooks, bedtime whispers, and warm quilts, 
reminding me, "Be home before the streetlights flicker," 
and "Always say please and thank you." 
My old playlists echo through my headphones, 
memories stitched into frayed denim, 
despite the way I sometimes miss things 
I swore I couldn't wait to leave behind. 
 
I tell myself I've grown up, 
but nostalgia guides the compass 
for wherever I'm headed next. 
 
I had a friend who once moved in step with me, 
whispered dares; 
our hands nicked by fences, 
the sweet drip of melting popsicles glistened, 
staining my fingers, bright on her tongue. 
Our lives were woven together by familiarity, 
by the unspoken ease of never questioning belonging. 
 
From triumphant bike races flying fast on uneven pavement, 
to summers smelling of sunscreen and creek water, 
time slowly unraveled what we once believed was unbreakable. 
Now, she moves as if the past never touched her, 
the wind pulling at her sleeves as she runs, 
fluent in a language I no longer speak. 
I wonder if she ever looks back, 
hearing echoes of the laughter that drifted down the road, 
if she sees me lingering a step behind her, 
or if I am only a shapeless shadow in her peripheral vision. 
 
The future waits, empty of promises, 
time uninterrupted beneath a sky too wide to hold. 
The past is eager to say goodbye. 
I'm from the quiet moments I didn't know to hold onto— 
And I, caught between longing and belonging, 
am from the hum of the world waking up at dawn 
and dust-covered pants shaken clean with a grin.