By Calli Musé

I’m not who I once was. 

I say this to myself every time I see the mirror. 

You will never know 

Because no one has seen the girl that I once was. 

That girl was never meant to be. 

She started to grow at first. 

A young sapling in early spring, 

Only to wither from a cold snap of grief and terror. 

The root, however, survived. 

A sprout emerged again. 

The ground was still cold, 

But spring’s warmth was slowly thawing the numbness. A young child needs nourishment. 

A plant needs water, nutrients, and sunlight. 

The sapling needed something firm to support it, to help it grow tall. 

I was leaning desperately on something to support me. 

To help me stand. 

The sapling grew but did not flourish. 

At the time, I was naive. 

I reached out, only to be ignored. 

The silence hurt worse than a physical blow. 

The sapling’s life was limited.

It had just begun to grow. 

It stretched out its branches, unfurling its leaves. 

Tragedy struck. 

I was in a dark place for a long time. 

I left a part of me there. 

My innocence. 

My trust in others. 

Woodcutters came to the forest. 

Their axes struck down the young sapling. 

Blades churned the earth, eradicating even the roots. 

They left, taking the lifeless body of the little tree, 

Not even fully mature. 

A child. 

Someone found me there. 

They led me out and introduced me to someone else. 

They said she would help me heal. 

I knew she could. I knew who she was, at least through reputation. I didn’t know if I will let her close enough to heal me. 

Time passed. 

Winter came, and the forest floor remained barren. 

The only reminder of the once grand place was a small branch, A twig lying amid the debris. 

It was small and delicate, 

The limb of a young sapling. 

I locked myself away. 

I didn’t see anyone so no one could hurt me.

Snow covered the forest, 

blankets of white, cold and silent. 

Suffocating 

Eventually, spring came. 

The snow melted away, revealing a tiny green sprout. 

Not far from where the little sapling had been. 

The twig was nowhere to be seen. 

Children are creatures of light. 

They laugh, they smile, they play, and they learn. 

Light radiates from their innocence. 

I wasn’t a child anymore, 

But I still glowed. 

I refused to disappear. 

To let Fear win. 

The sprout reached out, stretching careful tendrils. 

It found a space to grow. 

It found water. 

It found sunlight. 

It grew rapidly, stretching strong branches proudly. 

It grew strong on its own, without support. 

I reached out for help. 

Help came. 

I cried, and tears brought back the memories but helped ease the pain. I moved on, trying new things, meeting other people. 

I cultivated the garden in my heart, and it flourished with bounty. I learned. 

I learned how to ask for help.

How to heal. 

How to slowly begin to trust. 

The tree is still there in the forest. 

Its roots stretch for miles, 

Deep in the earth, 

A quiet strength anchoring a giant. 

Branches of broad, beautiful leaves reach toward the sky, Seeking the sun’s rays. 

Thick bark and a tall trunk keep it safe and strong. 

It is the home of countless forest creatures. 

Its branches offer shelter from rain and snow. 

A home for those who are smaller. 

Seeds feed hungry mouths and spread their legacy through the forest. The forest is green again. 

I have changed many times 

I am still me. 

Just different. 

I will never return to my past self, 

But I will live, and I will flourish. 

In the present and into the future. 

I’m not who I once was. 

But that’s okay. 

A tree grows on.

About the Author

Eunwoo H. (she/her) is a rising freshman who writes under the pseudonym “Calli Musé”. She always has a journal for any overflowing ideas/thoughts.