I always wanted to be that girl. You know — that girl. The girl you’d see across a crowded room, or a smoky bar, or a sunny park, and just know — know that you had to know that girl. You’d know, in that moment, that girl was the one. The one you couldn’t not approach. The one for whom you’d contemplate writing a “missed connections” post on Craig’s List. The one you didn’t need names to dream about. The one whose voice echoes in your mind long after the sound subsides.

I always wanted to be that girl. The girl rock stars write songs about. The girl who still captures hearts a decade after arms have held her. The girl who whispers her secrets to stars and not to you; the girl who keeps something back — the very thing you keep reaching for. The girl who receives your last words as you fall asleep and your first upon waking. The girl who shares laughter when crying’s more appropriate and vice versa. The girl who finds your inner strength and pulls it out and shows it to you. The girl who sees your pain and raises it her own. The girl you call.

I always wanted to be that girl. I’m not that girl. I might’ve been her once.

And I might be her again, someday.