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Falling Leaves


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My name is Emma Adelaide Johnson. I sometimes go by Addy, short for Adelaide, but I prefer Emma. I suppose you could consider me just one of the norms. I have many friends, but I prefer to be by myself at almost all times. I’m currently 21 and at Texas A&M shooting for my bachelor’s in genetic counseling. I’m trying to keep everything at a superlative quality and get Summa Cum Laude, and I’m almost there. I’m actually an hour away from starting my first class of the day. I always go to Starbucks in the mornings; the vast smell of coffee always circulates the place and the workers seem to be very fond of what they do. I usually sit by a Vanilla Bean Frap while writing something on my laptop.

This is considered my first personal journal, but I suppose I contemplate myself as a narrator in the beginning of a premier night movie that everyone had been lingering for. Like I was saying, I’m a rather independent person.

I’ve concluded that my first impression on others is an outgoing person, excluding my independence. The ones close to me beg to differ as they say I have a very bashful and timid character. They seem to consider me as gentle or dainty, just like those freshly grown daisies in the spring. I tend to keep everything to myself, which is acceptable in some cases, but not in most. I’ve been through a lot, but it’s helped me grow to be powerful and solid.

Releasing my thoughts and emotions to others really helps. For example, I always have those extensive, meaningful talks with my boyfriend, Mason Williams. His green eyed gaze kills me every time he speaks to me. His brunette hair falls right every time. He doesn’t even have to try, and he still looks remarkable. He’s there for me in everything and he completely understands me. His parents got divorced when he was seven, his little brother died in a gulf enflaming house fire, and plenty more. He’s literally been through everything and I know he’ll give the greatest solutions. I suppose I can call him my fiancé mainly because I overheard my mom at a family reunion discussing the subject of him asking her for my ring size. I’m quite thrilled and exhilarated, but I try to forget about it. Otherwise, I would be oddly elated and I would eventually ruin the moment.

He’s a prominent role in my life, and I love his family along with mine. Most of all, my little sister is my absolute favorite individual. Tara Reese Johnson, born on June 7, 2000, showed me a day that changed my life. Everyday ahead of me would be different and I had to be her role model. She taught me quite a bit on whom I needed to be to make her proud and vice versa. Those typical doubting teenage feelings were gone. She proclaims on how special I am in my own little way just as how each snowflake is different and absolutely stunning. Not just was I her exemplar, but she was also mine. We discovered many deeds to do together. I was always fond of math and sciences, but she introduced me to reading. We would always read a new book every month and come back to discuss it on the last Friday of the month. I couldn’t have asked for better memories with my sister. She never ceases to amaze me and I couldn’t thank her enough for revealing the way it felt to read.

Reading books is my passion, beginning in grief and ending in favor. No matter how much I have to do, when fall comes I walk in the local forest of the season’s youthful colors. The cold air gives me a reason to sport the plum colored wool pea coat that my great grandmother had gotten me a year before she passed. I have my designated bench, which is near a black, old-fashioned lamppost. I stumble upon this place so often that the bench is almost always warm. It’s the months I look forward to, to fall in my coma of imagination. These are my great days of thinking deeply and creating new stories. My sister and I always consign each other the stories we make. Every time I receive a letter from her, I feel the bittersweet tears that fall from my eyes. She’s going to be a great author when she grows up. No one realizes how much I cherish and adore her and how immense of a role she plays in my life. I’m glad to call her my sister.

But did I ever state that everything I just mentioned was history? No? Well it is. My sister died at the age of twelve a few months ago and I graduated a month before that. You have no clue how I could’ve handled that. My other half is completely gone and out of sight. Tara perished of an asthma attack, and what I hate is that things like this always happen so sudden.

Everything has changed, but I suppose I can say it’s for the better. This forest is considered my second home. Not only do I have my notions and dreams here, but Mason and I exchanged our vows here not too long ago. We have the most beautiful white house that has a second floor and balconies everywhere. I’m five months pregnant with two boy twins that will be named Micah and Malachi. Everything turned out better than my highest dreams. I’m fully delighted in my place even if I still store a little grief in me.

I still visit the forest every fall, now with another thought to give out. Other than rattling on to Mason, looking at the parched leaves in that forest helps give me more relief. Breathing in fresh cold air every three seconds helps me forget everything and be content about what I have and how far I’ve gotten. All these vivid and frigid leaves tell a different story. Every leaf represents different people and their lives.

I finished my Frappuccino two years ago and my first class already concluded. I now sit on this bench next to the lamppost with leaves falling all around me, and me drinking my Pumpkin Spice Latte. My sister is just another leaf on these trees. Even though it shrivels and falls, it always blooms up again with a beautiful new start.




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