Page 1 of the Book I'll Never Write
When it’s good it’s good and when it’s bad, God is it bad. I’ve begun to wonder if it will ever be good again. I wonder if the bags under my eyes will ever fade back into the olive glow that they used to be. I mean I’m only 18 and the tired and the sorrow that rests under my blue eyes like an animal under the night sky are as dark as my mothers. And maybe that’s where it all began. She looked in the mirror saw the beginings of what was to come, our life, and snapped. The faint blue black color tracing just under the only feature on her face that made her stand out ruined her. I don’t know when this began, I don’t know if the trickling stream that once floated under her eyes caused this, but all I know now is that life has become white water.
I try to remember a time when I was truly happy; I mean truly truly happy. Not the kind of happy you are when you’re eating your favorite meal, or talking amongst friends, or even watching tv. I mean the kind of happy when you’re embracing your best friend after a long trip, or your team is coming back for the win taking you to play offs; I don’t remember ever really feeling that.
Optimism is an amazing trait and God I try so hard to be happy. Sometimes I think it was Gods intentions for me to be sad; it was simply meant to be. Saying “I’m going to fix it,” is the easiest thing in the world, and for a moment it almost works. I live life like I know I’m meant to be happy, and I try to put all of the sad behind me but then I come home. Home. I often find myself yearning for this place, I mean I have one but when I come here it doesn’t feel like home. I find my self sobbing into my pillow at dawn, whispering to myself I want to go home, but where is that? Certainly it couldn’t be here. Not here.
Aspiring writer/artist currently attending school at Wagner College who is actually not as sad as her piece makes her out to be!