Today, I met a girl who reminded me of myself. We sat on the steps of the university and talked about life. Her long brown hair, her shy and awkward demeanor, and her suppressed excitement about being welcomed into the arms of her dreams all rang a bell in the depths of my mind. She spoke monosyllables and wrote flowers. Her long fingers, coddled by years of piano playing, intertwined with mine until I could no longer tell where I stopped and she began. Was that her dream of changing the world or mine?

Today, I met a boy who reminded me of myself. We sat on the steps of the mental institution and talked about death. His longing eyes, his will to survive, and his desire for love all rang a bell in the depths of my mind. He wrote monosyllables and spoke flowers. His stubby fingers, coarsened by years of street living, intertwined with mine until I could no longer tell where I stopped and he began. Was that his dream of love and acceptance or mine?

Today, I met myself. We stared into each others eyes for a moment before the flicker of recognition hit. Which of myself is more me? Do I want to change the world, or has my world been changed enough? Does my "why" matter more than my "who?" Someday I will never learn, but now I know I am my own Who, and that is all that matters.