The versions of me I let go (and the faith that helped me mourn them)

Grief for the dream that wasn’t yours. Faith for the one that is.

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The other day, I saw her again.

Lacy.

She was standing on a cobbled street in Edinburgh, laughing in the cold. A different post showed her in London, hands cupped around a coffee — the kind of girl who looks like she belongs in every city. The kind of girl I once imagined I’d be.

I wrote about Lacy a few months back. I know I said I was going to be okay, but I supposed saying it to others is just easier than digesting it for myself.

To Lacy — the girl who had it all, from the girl who never did.

We were classmates for a while, back in school, just for two years. Both top students, fighting for the number one spot. Both young girls with oversized dreams. But somewhere along the way, her path turned global, while mine stayed local — familiar roads, familiar skies.