She was so pretty, so young.
I envied her wake-up skin and uncombed hair that only made her more lovely.

I went to pay."Your name is Emily," she said. "Mine is, too. When you opened your wallet to pay, I saw your name."

We laughed. "Such a popular name now," I said. "When I was a kid, I was always the only Emily."

"I know." She smiled. How could she know?  She was so beautiful and young with her wake-up skin and morning uncombed hair. I missed my beautiful young self. Every morning I stare at my wrinkles and graying hairs that I can no longer count.

We chatted about being Emily. "The most popular girl's name for the last seventeen years," she said. Seventeen. She hardly looked more than seventeen. I paid for my coffee and left.

The yearning for youth and its beauty flowered like a dying rose.
And I said, "What have I forgotten?" To my amazement, the answer flowered like a lotus.

You are Emily.
She is you.
All is one.
You are she.
You are you.
You are old.
You are young.
You are dying.
You are born.

The flower grew beyond my being, embracing me. And yet, my mind still yearned.