"Who are you?" - it's what I asked myself as I stared into the mirror last night. I don't really ever stop to think about it - that question.
Not until I look into the mirror.
I see my reflection, and I suddenly realize - I don't recognize me.
Who? Tell me what your name is - tell me who you really are. Why don't I know you? I've lived with you all of my life - I took my first breath with you... but I still don't know you.
I wonder what's inside this outer shield; I marvel that a soul dwells somewhere within. I try to figure out how I've become me.
A brief smiles appears when a run my thumb over the plaid shirt I'm wearing, reminding me of a dream I had the night before. And dreams... my dreams?
Why do they baffle me?
Why do I seem dazed and confused at the girl staring back at me?
I saw a photo of me yesterday from when I was about three or four - now I'm seventeen. Part of me knows that I'm the same Hannah - my eyes, my hair color, yeah, even my temper. But the other part simply stares at the stranger that looks back at me. It makes no sense. I look into my own eyes, and again, I have to ask - who are you?
Near everything in my liking has changed. No, Christ in my heart is still burning bright and the same. The sound of hearing dad play the tune on his guitar I heard when I was a baby - those things I still love. Things like the way I smirk, the quirk I have of drinking pickle juice, the scar on my elbow, the freckle on my collar bone - those are the same. But then again... they're not.
I'm seventeen. And I keep wondering who I am.
If I passed me on the street, maybe I could get a clue as to who I am; if I could study me somewhere.
Right now, my heart is so full for the people I love, and I want so bad to help. But then, I glance in the mirror again, and the thought once again passes through my mind: how did you get this way?
Does anyone else every feel like this, or is it just... me? You know, me, Hannah.
Is it just me?
