As I scan the classroom full of attentive faces, I start to feel misplaced. I sit pencil in hand, and face toward the board like most of my peers. But I am truly not here. I belong to my thoughts in this moment. A moment I tend to both welcome and reject. I welcome it, because I know my imagination merged with my memories ten times out of ten beats the lesson of the day in American Government. Though that brings me comfort, it isn’t enough for me to warrant completely these moments I’m lost to my thoughts. There is simply so many. Thoughts of past memories I want to make stories. Thoughts of doubt, Thoughts of riches, Thoughts of the irony behind people saying I don’t think enough to me feeling inside I think too much. My thoughts are always all over the place, but I’m coming to the realization that I am my thoughts. I am not what I see when I look in the mirror; I am not this body, nor this skin. I am a twenty-year-old kid with dreams, goals, and thoughts.