excerpt from a letter

Stood in front of my mirror yesterday late at night and realized that I'm nineteen. All those girls that I used to watch doe-eyed with shyness from the grocery store cart? I'm older than they were now. I am that girl that's being looked at. I want to tell them that your hair really will start to behave. Don't try to change it. It's adorable just tucked behind your ears. There will be a time to fiddle with it, learn its ways, and find its natural rhythm. Just enjoy having it be tangled now because no one cares. Play in mud, jump, dance around the store pretending ballerina. Pretend because I wish I could pretend with you. Twirling, twisting, knowing that I look graceful when I don't.