One page becomes another. I write because it comes naturally, I write because it feels good, I write for a hundred thousand reasons. The photograph of this moment would look like a dark-haired girl dripping in chlorine, outstretched on one of those cheap plastic chairs, and separated from the other poolside sunbathers only by the pen in her hand and distant expression. The flowers to my right are simple, white, and delicate. In a different way they remind me of myself. For they somehow thrived in a patch of lifeless earth, through dead chips of tree and half rotted cigarettes, bringing a simple sort of beauty to the scene. It’s the beauty of life, of hope, of survival, that can only be noted when you take in the contrast of bright green on brown, or the way in which every petal is stretched toward the sun.

This is the one sixth of my life that had to be survived. I moved twenty-two times, living everywhere from a beachfront condo and historic mansion to grungy no-name motels and a crackhouse. My life was touched and heart moved by countless names and faces I’ll never forget. My highs reached to the clouds and my lows melted somewhere near the Earth’s core. The experience was full, though at times heartbreaking and lonely. I have struggled, but were it all a test, I’m sure I passed with an A. This sixth has taught me more than I can ever tell, on paper, or otherwise.

I feel perfectly connected to Samantha, the smiling six year old. She had no idea of the obstacles waiting for her. But I bet you she was confident in her ability to leap cleanly over each of them. I wish she’d had stronger hands to hold along the way, but for every leap attempted alone, her strength grew. And now, I think, in my effort to stretch toward the sun, I am moving forward and upward, leaving those who began the journey with me a bit behind.