Can we not write about hats?

You said, Nelson, that hats may be our next prompt.
And I really don't want to write about hats.
Because if I write about hats, I'll have to write about him.
And if I write about him, I'll be like every other tourist in Paris.
'Look, hun, let's kiss under the Eiffel Tower!!'
'I remember when we kissed under the Eiffel Tower...'
'*sob* now that he's gone I can't even look at the Eiffel Tower!!!'
That's not me.
But somehow in the last few months it's who I've become.
If we had to write about hats I'd have to talk about how the only time he didn't wear a hat
was when we had to say goodbye in front of his grandparents in the church building.
Except for that one other time when he didn't wear a hat
and I learned the new definition of VL. Veteran. Lips.

I used to always steal his hat.
He would wrestle me to the ground (no mercy!!!) to get it back, laughing.
One day he let me keep it on my head.
That's when I knew.
I think that's when he knew too.

*shudder*

did I really do that?
Did I really say that.
well, crap.
I am a tourist.
I am.
I must be,
if I'm writing about why I don't want to write about him. And his hats.
But I desperately want to find more in Paris than the good food.
I want so badly to deeply enjoy Paris, even though seeing the monuments alone aches, aches, aches...
How can I stop being so pathetic and how can I truly enjoy it
when I have to curl into a ball to hold myself together
just because someone passed me in the hall today
wearing the same hat as he did on our last date?

I'm not like this.
Well....
I guess I wasn't.
But I am now.
sorry.

the thing is... he's the first person that made me feel like more than just me.
And now I'm crawling blindly on the floor, desperately searching for that feeling again.
because going back to being just me...
sucks.
It really does.

Here's to being just Korra.
Maybe someday I might finally be able to be me without the only or the just attached.
Because maybe,
just maybe,
I'm worth more than 'just'.
To him,
to them,
to myself,
maybe even to you.

I hope I can become more than 'just me' to you.

What's it like to really be known?

She's the girl that you see but don't notice as you walk in the classroom.

She's the girl that has been in that class with you for years, and you literally had NO IDEA. 

She's the girl that was at the cash register that one time who handed you your order with a smile and called you by name.

She's the girl that won second place (but never first) for that one thing but you just can't remember her name.

She's the girl that people ask who you're texting and you say 'oh, it's just Korra.'

She's the girl you asked if she was either a Freshman or a Sophmore, to which she mumbled 'Senior, actually.'

She's the girl dancing alone at that stake or black light dance; looking like she's having the time of her life...

while inside she's aching to be asked to dance just once.

She's the girl you stopped asking 'what happened?' and started saying 'seriously, again????'

She's the girl that is painted into the background of every single picture and production and story
but has never once been the subject of the painting.

She's the girl who can be a nerdy awkward geek one second, and a crazy senioritis-plauged mental patient the next.

She's the girl that you've called 'Molly Mormon' to her face, and she didn't take it as an insult.

She's the girl you don't even believe can be mean, she's so 'sweet'. And it drives her CRAZY.

She's the girl that had never even held hands and swore she'd stay VL forever...

until summer came.

She's the girl that is definitely NOT waiting for her missionary but yes, she has one.

She's the girl that doesn't want to be THAT girl, ya know? because

She's the girl that still wants guys to ask her on dates and has seen her friend never go out because everyone knows about 'her missionary'.

She's the girl who hates the word 'perfect' almost as much as the word 'failure'. The girl who grew up being EXPECTED to be perfect. The girl whose life was ruined because she could never live up to those expectations.

She's the girl who walks daintily and speaks softly and hikes mountains in her spare time.

She's the girl who is a walking contradiction.

She's the girl who is just dying to share the song playing inside her heart
because it has such a beautiful, heart-wrenching melody
that no one seems interested to hear.

She's the girl who's so tired of being second. Of being ignored. Of being overshadowed. Of being misunderstood. Of being seen as broken. Or taken. Or too sweet. Or too good. Or too much. Or too perfect. Or not perfect enough.

She's the girl who never gives up, even though she has gotten so close, so many times.

Korra is not me. 

Korra is the piece of my heart that I've kept guarded for so long.

The only difference between her and me

is that she is willing to speak up.

She WILL be heard.

 Thanks for letting her be free at last-

I hope you like the melody she wants to share.

-Korra. Just.... Korra.