“Am I too old for fanfiction?” I ask as I open a new 20 chapter Danny Phantom fic.
I’ve been birthed today.
She used to gaze up at the stars
When mom drove her home at night
She thought everyone would know her name
And she'd never be put down without a fight
They said you can do what you put your mind to
But she was always scared of changing her mind
She didn't know the world the way she does now
That dreams like that were not for her to find
-- a poem by me
"Friends come and go, but their impact remains."
The legacies people leave behind in you.
My handwriting is the same style as the teacher’s who I had when I was nine. I’m now twenty one and he’s been dead eight years but my i’s still curve the same way as his.
I watched the last season of a TV show recently but I started it with my friend in high school. We haven’t spoken in four years.
I make lentil soup through the recipe my gran gave me.
I curl my hair the way my best friend showed me.
I learned to love books because my father loved them first.
How terrifying, how excruciatingly painful to acknowledge this. That I am a jigsaw puzzle of everyone I have briefly known and loved. I carry them on with me even if I don’t know it. How beautiful.
~Edit~
Yikes guys I didn’t expect this post to blow up.
I’m grateful it did though. Looking at all the comments and tags really takes a stab at my heart because it just shows how wired we are for connection. If life has any meaning, then it’s that.
This concept really sunk its teeth into me as it reassures the notion that no one is ever truly gone. Parts of them just change into you.
That teacher I talked about inspired me to become a teacher myself. This was my first year teaching. Here’s to a new generation of curved i’s.
Sitting in the cafe where I spent my young adult life. Over there is the spot where I would sit for hours. The leather-padded, wooden chairs, always. The least wobbly ones. That's the couch where I sat with friends - so close that I thought I'd have them forever - that I haven't seen in years. That's the spot on the couch where I last saw one of my closest friends that died that night in a car accident. I don't know the people that work behind the counter anymore - but they recognize me as an older regular and acknowledge my presence accordingly. The music is foreign to me - unless they are playing the punk and new wave “oldies.” The new, young regulars laugh in spots that I once laughed in. I wore-in that chair long before they enjoyed its ragged comfort. I sit here now alone. Reading a book. Drinking the same coffee drink I always have. Typing into an electronic log. Hoping my ex never walks in the door. Hiding in the corner so my "friends'' have a hard time spotting me as they pass through to grab their coffees.
being 19 is the strangest thing because it sounds so much more grown up than 18, and i was so excited to turn 19 for that reason, but now that i’m 19 i’m realizing that it’s my last year of being a teenager, and then my 20s start, and i just want a few more years of being a kid