The ribbon of my seventeen years has unraveled from its spool at a hundred miles per hour, spilling over the edges of different boxes.
There’s the Farm Girl Box of green woven fields, sweet horse kisses, and starlit nights in the tractor. There’s the Student Box strung with stubby lead pencils, science fair ribbons, and graduation honors cords. Lastly, there’s the Fashion Designer Box of newspaper clippings, VIP lanyards, and beads sewn until my fingers bled. The colors, textures, and memories from each box vary, but together they tell a story.