I am from the visions of sunbeams gleaming through a window too high to curtain.
I am from the inviting smell of freshly-baked banana bread.
I am from the rough, scratchy bark of the low-hanging limb of a tree.
I am from the homely scent of cat dander.
I am from the savory flavor of my mother’s homemade meatloaf tinged with a coating of sweet ketchup.
I am from the songs played by my father, the ancient melodies imprinted in my memory.
I am from the comforting feeling of a cat, from her silky, fur coat to her soft, velvety paws to the calming vibrations of her pur.
I am from the subsequent sting inflicted by the claws of a cat who deciding she’s had enough.
I am from the reluctant look in my mother’s eyes, brimming with tears as she first sent me to school.

I am from the blinding, fluorescent lights of a school room.
I am from the mocking red ink, branding the worth of work.
I am from the odor of a packed lunch, unexplainably sullied in transport.
I am from the abrupt beeping of a timer, signaling the end silent reading.
I am from the consolidation of numerous, unrelated conversations, incapable of being extinguished by the teacher.
I am from the muffling of this verbal chaos with music blaring through headphones, while secretly preferring silence.
I am from the amalgamation of body sprays and perfumes used by by my peers to mask insecurities I lacked the knowledge to identify, the odor growing more pungent with each passing year.

I am from a feeling of exhaustion so great I feel as if keeping my eyes closed a moment longer than a blink would allow sleep overtake me.
I am from the reluctant reopening the weighted lids of my eyes, as the risk outweighs the reward.
I am from the artificial flavor of poorly-microwaved chicken nuggets smothered in sweet ketchup, consumed solely for sustenance.
I am from the piles and piles of school work splayed across my bed at 1 am, occupying the space where my sleeping form should dwell.
I am from the beguiling aroma of medium-roast coffee followed by its bitter taste, yet chugging it as a dehydrated man would with lake water.
I am from the physical ac4he I am tormented with after working a shift I have no time for.
I am from the scent of a cold, winter evening, the frost in the air burning my airways with each labored breath.
I am from the sound of a car door closing, followed by a long-awaited silence.

I am from the fit of soft, muffled sobs that follow and the hasty recovery.

I am a sunbeam gleaming through a window too high to curtain.