I remember when she made me.
​When she gave me my name.
She named me Jelly.
Because I was a Jellyfish.
She made me little Jellyfish friends.
All of us had similar names, but we didn’t care.
We played, laughed, and sometimes saw weird creatures in silly outfits.
We tried to befriend them, but they kept running away.
That always ended the same way.
They went to play with her and never returned.
We never talked about where they went.
Or what she did to them.
I remember when she made me look less like myself.
Instead of being a Jellyfish, she made me look like a siren.
I was a beautiful siren, she said.
She gave me a beautiful necklace.
I still have it.
I remember when she put me in charge.
I didn’t want that crown.
Or the people’s praise.
I wanted to keep playing forever.
But she told me I had to.
I needed to, and so I did.
I did what she said so I could earn her love.
And so, she gave me love.
She taught me the way to be royal, and I hated it.
To be colder than the sea itself, when my heart was filled with warmth and love.
To be unapproachable by all, though I desperately wanted more people to come and play with me.
And most importantly to her, making sure EVERYONE knew I was in charge.
I didn’t even want to be in charge.
I remember when I left the sea.
When I came to a school so bright, I swear I went blind for a second.
When I changed the spelling of my name.
I held her words close to my heart.
I still do.
And now, I can remember this place.
Our adventures.
Even if you don't like me, I’ll remember you.
I’ll remember you all.
I hope you remember me as well.