Waiting For Perfection

Twelve

I laid on my pale pink bed wishing that I could erase the memory of myself from people's minds.

Most of the time I think people would be happier without me in the way, without me always coming in like a horrible storm ruining everything.

My parents weren't home but that wasn't anything new.

I could hear the clock downstairs ticking.

Tick....Tock....Tick....Tock.

Maybe the clock also felt how little of life I had left in me.

I dreaded the morning.

I go to sleep everyday hoping that I might not wake up, but the thought of not waking up ever also scares me.

Because what if after I leave this world everybody actually forgets me and I turn into a distant memory.