you’re enveloped in one of those lamplit, perfect nights
not a whirlwind night of people,of streetlights
and cold breath in the air, but a soft night

sitting on a familiar family’s couch, the babysat boys
asleep in their beds, just tufts of blonde hair visible above
the quilts, skinny little bodies hidden under blankets

in their dark, young rooms. your sister asleep on the
couch next to you, curled up, her legs bent, one foot
sticking out off the cushion like a question mark

listening to that song you’ve listened to every day
for the past year, that reminds you of your favorite place
in the world, and the ambulance siren, that urban owl,

wailing in the distance, reminding you of yet another
reason why you love this city. and you just know that
even though you’re not the cool girl, maybe not the desirable,

sought after one. not the girl that people turn to hoping for
a smile, an acknowledgement, that your life will still be okay
fantastic, even. because life is not high school,

and even when this chapter is over, there will still be cities,
alive with light in the middle of the night, and songs
that make your heart ache in the best way, and late hours

flitting spent through the bullets of rain with the people you love
most in the world, clammy canvas sneakers and drenched ponytails
laughing through the dark, and languages you’ve never

heard of, that sound like butter melting, and the eyes of a boy
some time in the future, alive with laughter, and paints all
lined up in their dauntless row, beside the creamy white paper,

just waiting to become something beautiful, and rickety trains
leading to places you’ve never been, and books that perfectly capture
experiences and feelings you haven’t ever realized you had.
and everything, for those few golden moments, is alive with the
vibrancy and safety of Possibility

Julia Pike, Age 15, Grade 10, Berkeley Carroll School, Silver Key

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