The last day of elementary school was a distant memory, a memory of which I can never truly reach, no matter the effort even possible to imagine. A dream in the lost ruins of memories, that are gone, never to be found. A drop in the entirety of the ocean, a book in the library of broken hearts, of  broken dreams. A speck, in the millions of beaches in the billions of grains of sand, in the trillions of tiny atoms and the quadrillions of unknown possibility. The star, the dying star, among the infinite, cold, dark vastness of space. This dying star is what allows life to exist. The chance that is immeasurable. A chance, that is not one in a million or a billion or a trillion, a chance of one, in infinity. The one memory, the one dream, the one drop, the one book, the one speck, the one star is what makes the difference between chance and impossibility. There aren’t enough words to describe the beauty of this chance.

I have found this memory, dream, book, speck, star. I have found this chance and I remember, maybe just a portion, maybe just a small percent, maybe just another small chance, but it doesn’t matter. I remember the excitement that filled the air, for the kids to leave. Leave their childhood behind and star a-new. I remember the gentle breeze that would carry our lives to a new land. I remember how when we went outside to recess all the kids ran as fast as they could, they ran to the playground with the broken pieces of tire, where sometimes I would climb on the little castles climbing as high as possible or swing on the swings and jump when I’m closest to the sky, the heavens above me, I would jump, only to get dragged down along with my dreams.

They ran to the giant wall to play off the wall or tennis, or anything, me and my friend use to play Mini baseball, where we would hit a whiffle ball with a plastic bat and once we hit all of them we ran around the fence and collected as many colors as possible, much like an Easter egg hunt, different colors of each ball represented a classification of luck, the red was always the unluckiest because we would always get hit with it, the pink ball was the luckiest, one time I hit it and it flew up into the sky and split apart in mid-air, those were good times, but maybe a story for perhaps another day. Kids would run to the kickball field where we would set up organized games of kickball and we would have two teams of about 15 and whenever I played, the best moments were when, I’m up, before the pitcher rolls the ball, all the kids in the outfield back up and when the ball is pitched with all my might I would kick the ball all the way out over all of the kids and over the tall fence and into the playground, making a home run.

Yet on that last day I remember, walking in silence, I walked with care as I looked around. I walked to the playground; I climbed to the top of the highest structure. And I sat there. I watched, watched as all the kids played with smiles on their faces and happiness in their souls. I watched as the kids played on the swings, on the slide, kickball, off the wall. I watched as I felt my childhood slipping away. I sat and watched, with the knowledge that life will never be the same. I watched, as the most precious thing that I would ever have, fall away, from my open arms and into the dark abyss. I watched as the tear rolled across my face, into the ground below. I watch for the last time through the eyes of a child, of who I used to be.

Not a day has gone by, since I ever felt the same, every day has gone by and it felt as if it was nothing, as if the good days were just yesterday, yet still I feel that happiness is so far away. There was a day, in the midst of the time of two years of which I lived lonely, where I felt that life, is so confusing, yet so beautiful, I could not express the way I felt, the sadness and beauty that rests upon my broken heart. I felt sad, sadness in a simple way, the way that the word was created as, I may have felt that my heart was broken but not because it was simply split apart, but because it grew bigger and bigger until it could not contain itself anymore.

There thoughts made me feel confused, and lost in my own head, made me want to run away from everything that troubles me, every problem, every discomfort, every thought that made me sad. Yet deep inside, when I explore the remains of my broken heart. I would find life, I would find meaning, I would find real happiness, not the kind that is just a word, with no emotion, but the kind that makes life feel truly worth living, the happiness I felt true meaning has no word, no cage to contain it. It is free, and can only be changed if you let it. Even through all the sad thoughts, all the worst feelings, I felt that I still had that tear, that drop, that dream, that speck, that star, that tiny chance, on the edge of possibility, I felt that inside of my heart, there was life, a hope, against all odds, left inside.

I realized that life is like this, and not just a simple chance, but it is a fight, fought to live, and that chance shows the limit of raw effort, and far beyond that limit of which we even thought possible, this chance is so great that it can’t be put as a simple number, it is far beyond comprehension possible to even begin to imagine or grasp through endless time of knowledge and evolution.

And just knowing, that I can even think these thoughts at all is the most beautiful thing that I have ever known. I must live my life knowing that only I, can change my future and we as humans can change ours. My goal in life is to find my place in this fight, and to find my own way to be truly happy, to find my own way to make the time I have beautiful, to realize that you can never be truly along, you can never truly be different than others, to know that instead of living life filled with knowledge of sadness, we should live life knowing that we are that minuscule chance, and we will live knowing that we have won our fight.