I come from water, from being fluid. I come from wanting the whole ocean, and from having to settle for a single raindrop. I come from an island, nowhere special, just a rock in the sea with little piles of memories, like sandcastles sitting on the shore. I come from angry sleepless nights, from not knowing quite what I want, from tossing and turning, and from first day anxiety. I come from quarantine, from a virus that took away my fifth-grade year But I didn’t mind so much after a while There weren’t too many others like me anyway. Most of all, I come from blank paper, my best friend. When All the others sleep he listens, And when I am quiet he talks.