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| Finale. |
| 06.18.09 (3:56 am) [edit] |
There is no song to be shared because nothing can cover everything.
I am in disbelief from the words you have spoken. I have spoken none yet you threaten the history of my teenage years. I can not let the threats exist so I can not let my teenage history exist. It is upsetting to never read a post from my 15-years-old self or a motivating comment to my 17-years-old self again.
Someday, in the future, I will ponder about myself and not have the clues and hints I made when I was young. I will forget my epiphanies. I will forget endearments I made towards friends. I will forget old angers. I will forget summers and classes. I will forget experimenting with prose and syntax. I will forget (young) me.
There is a degree of sadness to that. I am sure many people wish they had the thoughts of their old selves, but they don't have them at their disposal. I had them and now they are gone. I can never again read my everyday struggles to find who exactly I am.
Why is it that I can trust my friends more than my "family" members? I can trust strangers more than I can trust you. A stranger or a friend would never threaten me to tell my parents that I loved a boy when I was 15-years-old. Wouldn't dare tell my parents that I felt sad and angry and lonely all throughout high school. Couldn't expose my inner feelings for personal happiness and revenge.
"Family" members are supposed to be better than friends. More trusting. More there for you. You couldn't be truly part of my family. My family helps me -- not discourages me. You just live with them. And that means little to the overall picture.
I feel sad for you and for me. You will never belong. I will never read about my teens again. It's a pity that you're the way you are. It's a pity that I let a little too much out.
There are no good-byes because I will be here but not.
Lisa.
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