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A Srtory

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Having a passion or a dream, in high school is like trying to grip a single strand of hair in a tornado. Things are constantly flying at you and more importantly being sucked away. Holding something so seemingly small, at times, can be hard to see, difficult to hold on to, but always painful when it slips from our grasp. With life moving all around us, we can only tighten our fist and the wind take us away. We are all sucked up in this crazy world where love is only real for the inane, ‘friends’ surprise you every day, people disappoint you, and the ‘real you’ fades and changes, ready or not.
I was once told by a close friend that life isn’t about finding yourself but creating yourself, and I think she’s right. I think life is about the choices you make when there is no one else to do it for you. It’s standing out when the rest of the world is against the wall. It’s the difference between you changing and the changes you make. It’s about doing what you love, following what you believe and, for me, writing what I know.
Well, this is what I know; I’m seventeen years old with no grasp on tomorrow. I haven’t seen a sunset since summer, yet I can’t forget the sight. I’m the type of girl that runs into lockers and then says sorry. I have a best friend, which I know in high school world is a joke, but to us we’re the real deal. As for my other friends, sometimes, I want to throw them into ongoing traffic but then I realize I’d probably kill myself trying to save them.
I don’t think I’ve ever been in love, but my heart keeps telling me otherwise. True, I’m young, but I know when I’m happy and I know when I’m hurting. I know what tears taste like and I know the feeling of a raw throat, after being home too long. I know what it’s like to be broken and I know how it feels to be sick with happiness. I never seem to get anything right in this judging world where perfect is being defined daily. I either care too much, or not enough, so sometimes I consider not caring at all.
I always say how I feel, even if my voice shakes. I have no incurable disease or tragic past to talk about; I’m just a normal girl with a lot to say.

Freshmen year was a blur. Friends, I don’t remember losing, were lost somewhere in the crowded halls and never seen again. Smiles, I can’t remember making were engraved in my memory. Choices, I never imagined facing, were thrown in front of me. Tears, I don’t want to remember, are remembered no matter what. Like I said, a blur, a hazy chapter of my life that chipped into who I am now. It’s a realization that we all face, at one point we have a choice to be something different, something we’re not. That year will never be a regret, just a chapter, a chapter that is long over.

Sophomore year was just ‘that year’, the year where everything finally made sense. I was not just doing what I loved, but I was surrounded by what I loved. I had these girls, this group, that seemed perfect. I can’t remember all the jokes, but I remember the tears that came with our laughter. We danced our problems away and shrugged off the heartache of our lives. We moved so fast, so loud, so hard, like we held life in our hands and now were pulling it along. Maybe we were camellias, fighting for ten minutes only to spend twenty minutes making up, hugging each other like we didn’t just see the other five minutes before. To you girls, you know who you are; you filled this chapter with smiles that made my cheeks cramp, and laughs, that could only be heard through my gasping for air.

I didn’t see it coming, but I guess that’s how the worst of things happen. They hit you without even looking. Maybe it was the shushed words of divorce at home or the building secrets in each of our never ending lives. The girls are now just girls, all separated by their own reasons. It was the fight that couldn’t just fade, because the breaking wasn’t what hurt, it was the putting together that was impossible. There was once a happiness in the year that held me awake at night and woke me smiling, that happiness is gone now. The memories of this are like phantom limbs, the limbs that people loose but still feel years later. The tickling on a lost foot or the twitching of a missing finger, they are like my memories of him now. Gone, but still aching.

People have walked in and out of my life this year. I have lost old friends but gained new ones over time. I loved harder and cried longer than I had before. Some may think I’m changing more than I should, but we all are. We are constantly evolving, differencing with each day, forming ourselves to not what, but who we wish to become. I may regret more than any girl should, but I continue to hide it better than any girl could.
This is my life. It’s my memories and my dreams. It’s my tomorrow and my yesterday. It’s smiling when I’m happy and asking for help when I’m not. It’s this defining moment where I can look back and know as my story comes to an end, this is only a beginning. It’s crying as I read this because I know who I am, and I might not be perfect or make sense to some people, but to me its life. It can’t be judged or criticized; it can’t be mocked or pitied upon. It’s living the day exactly how you want to. Caring for others, but more importantly caring for yourself. Loving every piece that’s put in me now, I can only hope as you read this you too see yourself, create yourself, and love every memory you make. Be who you are and do it on purpose.





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