Muscle Has Memory


In a little over a month my freshman year will be over, which seems completely impossible. I’m a person who will always have one foot rooted in the east, and another in the west, separated by thousands of miles and expensive plane tickets that tend to get lost right before the flight. I think I came here to find something better, to find a way out, and I don’t know if I found what I was looking for, because I don’t really know what that was. But for the first time ever I can say that I am in love, and I have found people that make me feel like the sun is softly¬† warming my skin. My fingers still itch to write, but it’s faded a bit since everything happened. I know it will slowly come back to me. My French teacher always tells me that muscle has memory. I didn’t realize how true that was until the muscles in my arms and my fingers relax as soon as I pick up a pen.¬† Things in my life are more up in the air than they have ever been, but despite that, I’ve managed to find hope, which is all anyone can do. This is me in my freshman year.