Delicacy.

Life is so delicate. Each small part that fans into the entire bloom can be manipulated by the smallest breeze. Mood, setting, character, theme, plot. The wind blows by and the pen changes course.

Twenty two years. It's only but a quarter of the life that is still yet to be lived.

More and more, I find myself marveling at my surroundings and pathways. What gets me most are the changing people, the groups of players that filter in and out of each chapter. Some beginning to fade away like images in a distant mirage, and others calmly planted as their own oasis. No matter which they are, each one has still tread across my being. Their presence has forever altered the composition of the landscape. The trace of a footprint here, a word drawn in the sand there, the undeniable marks of a struggle somewhere in the distance. They themselves blur into the heat of oblivion as I continue to wander, but I'll never stop stumbling upon their tracks.

As I wander, they all see me on a different set. My costume is changed, the tone of the script altered, the theme is all blown to who the fuck knows what. I stand in front of them all as Carly, but a different version. My oasises have watched me shed my skin time and time again, even if they didn't know it. But the others…

George Tingo. He lived behind me from second grade all the way to high school. We used to make my barbies have sex, pull them apart, then bury them in my side yard. Frightening how children can conjure such a beautiful metaphor.

Lauren Kehoe. She was my best friend in 5th grade. We were both in the ugliest, most awkward stages of our lives. We felt outcasted, but had not the maturity or sight to realize it. Yet the deep recesses of human nature caused misery to seek company.

Tom Lodge. We dated for six years. It started at 13, and for a girl that feels as deeply as I do, falling in love when you can barely even spell the word is a dangerous gambit. We grew around each other, but not within each other.

Kristin Palladino. A best friend for all of middle school, some of high school. By ninth grade, you couldn't think of one boy she hadn't made out with or let feel her up. We used to find her parents sex toys and photos in the basement. I heard she just got out of rehab.

There are so many countless others. These four stick in my mind for right now, and they aren't even people that I met during the most defining years of my life. Those are still too fresh. They haven't receded into the fragmented melt of my past.

In the present, I can only be thankful. As I struggle to fit into my own skin, the ones I am surrounded with now are a blessing. As I've said before, growing up is fucking hard. But the sand trudges lighter if you're surrounded by good traveling companions.

For right now, I've got those.