the younger me

the younger me would love my room. she'd stand in my doorway in complete awe. "this is all ours?" she'd ask. the plants sitting on my book drawers would make her squeal. her little fingers would skim the leaves and feel the branches. the lamp would remind her of our grandma, for that's who gave me the light. our dresser would tower over her. her little eyes would bug out seeing how many books and journals we own. my puppy's kennel holds treasures i know she would explore. then her eyes would see it. the guitar! "can you play?" she would ask, plucking the strings. "no, i can't find the motivation." "oh." she would see my books piled on the floor, marveling at how many i've read. her little body would jump on my bed, staring at the letter from a sick kid on my wall. then she's crawl on her bony knees to my desk, feeling the things and murders and love that is cultivated there. she would look through those books, too. she would look at all the post-it notes of reminders, and the one that says, "what is religion to books?" she would end her tour with a look of joy, and i would end my guide with a look of sympathy.