I want to talk about blank paper, blank hearts. Because I
remember when all I was, was blank.
In kindergarten I wrote my first line of misspelled
words
In 3rd grade I wrote in cursive and got detention
for talking to much
In 5th grade I read and read and fell in love
with words. Words had power, and I wanted to use them.
In 6th grade, I learned about poverty and didn't
have any classes with my best friend. I thought I was athletic and
popular.
In 7th grade, I ate
green m&ms with my best friend and hated piano lessons. I made up code
names for boys I loved and wrote them on my heart, vowing to never forget them.
In 8th grade, I
wore makeup to cover up my bloodshot eyes from sleepless night. Words suddenly
took on a new meaning. I wanted to write on my heart that actions had power,
and words only had the power to explain them, but all that came out was
confusion and hurt. All I saw were perfect parents and suitcases full of lies
and loss. I hated words, then, because of what they did to you, and me and our
family.
In 9th grade, I
started over and now I was a timberline wolf, not a dragon. I wrote on my heart
the new me. The new, pretty, popular, outgoing me that I had never been before.
But I figured if I could imprint it deep enough, it might be true.
In 11th grade, I
fell in love. I wrote about kissing and adventures and redheads. Keith urban
and motorcycles and vlogs were engrained in me and without my permission, they
cut a lot deeper than crash I got into and the scar I still have.
In 12th grade, I wrote
like I knew love was my best friend. I wrote that I’d be ok. I wrote that I was
ok.
And now there’s only 24 days
left until I graduate and you are signing up for housing and she is applying
for a job, and she is moving to LA and he is playing football, and they are
going to France and Japan and Australia and Argentina for 2 years. And me? Me, I
wonder if I can take on all of this because already my heart is so full of
words and stories that have been there for so long that sometimes I think
there’s no room for anything more.
My blank sheet of paper is
not so blank. Neither is yours.
So lets not talk about the
last 12 years, or the next 24 days, or the next two years. Lets talk about now
and ap tests and boys and sluffing class and freaking attendance school.
Ill let
you write on my heart, and ill write on yours. And lets promise each other to never stop writing.
Forever, HS
