Life goes on.

One of the saddest things about life is that it goes on.

Why can't I still be that blonde-haired, wide-eyed little girl that ran without looking where she was going? That recited nursery rhymes and sang "Little Bitty" and asked so many questions full of wonder? That wore her hair in curls and bows on top of her head and never stumbled over words?

Why can't I still be that barefoot, wild tomboy that would rather play soccer all day than play with dolls? That spent every hour outside in the backyard that was her universe? That had poison ivy more often than not but didn't care? That wrote endless amounts of stories and dreamt up millions more?

Why can't I still be that awkward, crooked-toothed twelve-year-old that drew comics and played the clarinet? That discovered there was other music out there besides country and made lots of radio station requests? That caught tadpoles in the lake and was allowed to go yard-sale shopping without supervision? That climbed trees and washed dogs and jumped on trampolines and got bit by ants and only needed a shoreline and a surfboard?

Why can't I still be that boy-crazy, dramatic middle-schooler that grew out her bangs and took a theatre class? That sang Disney songs in talent shows and joined yearbook committee and burnt cookies? That went down slip-n-slides and played night games and hated French long before she loved it?

Why can't I still be that shy, curious sophomore that transferred schools and signed up for hip-hop lessons? That drove a little too fast and listened to music a little too loud? That ran track and dressed like a skater and sat in the hallway during lunch? That dyed her hair every color and got lost on her first day and rode bikes everywhere in the summertime?

Why can't I still be that reckless, carefree junior that went dancing on the weekends and watched movies on the weekdays? That got a job and made girl friends and bought too many clothes? That joined Key Club and went to Idaho and choreographed to the Backstreet Boys? That went to concerts and drove around aimlessly and played ping pong? That held nothing back and fell in love and had her heart broken and learned to forgive?

Why can't I still be that responsible, hard-working senior that longed to leave high school and begin her real life? That spent every day at school, work, or both, and became Key Club president and a shift leader? That applied for colleges and scholarships and fixed both eyes on the days ahead? That finally went to prom and learned to curl her hair?

Why can't I still be that nervous, excited college freshman that moved away and learned who she is? That made new friends but treasured the old? That played guitar again and learned to love French and rediscovered her passion for writing? That left her comfort zone and went to France and worked two jobs? That was scared or was lonely or was happier than she had ever been? That fell in love with life, with people, with the world?

I'm not any of those girls anymore. 

I'm all of them. 

That's the amazing thing about life: It goes on.