Growing up, Growing old, Going Wrong.

First, let me just start out by saying I'm far too old. The beginning of summer after junior year, i'm faced with swirling possibilites and options weighing down upon my future. What if i just ran away from it? What if i refused to buy into the expected way? Today, I assisted my mother as a teacher of first grade students. The pure, unhindered innocense of the children still astonishes me. I miss the days when boys had cooties and we had no secrets. When we could speak our thoughts, but it was simply stated, no hidden meanings, or agendas. Best friends could be made in an hour, and hearts were complete and utterly unbroken. I found myself feeling like I was in the past as I was surrounded by the future faces of society. I imagined one child growing up to be a vet, or some sort of scientist, and another a careful artist. I felt like they already were these things, and I was in their past, seeing them before their future had set in. Then, I was sent back to my own past, to the bouncing bubbly long brown haired girl, who's imagination turned rooms into worlds, and backyards into adventures. I would have never of guessed I would have turned out this way, war torn inside from the people and beliefs I looked up to.

He stopped calling. Somehow, I'm not suprised. The entire time we began talking again, I warned myself: Don't think he'll stay, remember what that thought brought you last time, nothing but the feeling of a naked, exposed, bleeding soul. So tonight, I will paint for him for the last time. The last time I feel for him, or even allow him into my thoughts. I will erase him. No more ghosts. Slowly, I intend to become that beautiful innocent child again, clothing myself once more with the innocense I lost somewhere along the years. No longer will I allow you to strip me of my scars. I have learned. You cannot keep me in the past any longer.

"Settle up, you're calling up the pain.

sitting dead the sinker and the string

you came, you saw, you sawed her brain

cut out all the parts that held your stain

sitting clad you're feeling wild to blame

she's crying as you're climbing down your claim
sitting up you're counting up your names

seen enough to bend him off the frame

you came, you saw, you sawed her brain

cut out all the parts that held your stain

you clipped you clawed to no applause

you lost the will that bought the lying cause.

so try to be somebody

so try to feel somebody

so try to leave somebody

so hard to be somebody

Where can you run?"-Justin Vernon: Hazelton.

Someday, I hope you realize, and wrap yourself in guilt, and then maybe you'd finally apologize. All I've ever wanted was for you to let me forget.