it is, in fact, possible for someone so young and undoubtedly adorned to hold the belief system of a cynical serpent, and therefore harbor venom in her veins. it is, unfortunately, possible for the unhurt, the unscathed, to be jaded, unamused, and infuriated. i am aware it is possible because i am its instance. i wish i was an example rather than the sample, yet i suppose solitude is a fair price to pay for sins committed in heaven...
i spent the greater part of my adolescence dying to be miserable that i didn't realize how happy i could have been. i, at twelve or thirteen, still had hints of the childhood liberty and bliss within me that i chose to drown, rather than dive into. my life was lively, but my mind was rotting, and so i boarded the windows and painted the walls grey in an effort to align the outside with the inside. i wish i had let the light in instead. maybe its' emittance on my soil could have sprouted even a sapling, and i'd actually have something to show for the number of years i'd lived. yet because i don't, being this age feels like an act. i appear nineteen, i converse in nineteen, yet my mind's eye, attempting to open for the first time in a while, is a girl- inexperienced and artless and innocent, all at an age which it isn't acceptable to be anymore.
