Near the football field lay a canvas of green and specks of color. Thousands of flowers glistened right before my eyes, spreading their petals across the canvas to show the world their beauty. We sat there for a while, twisting their stems until they wrapped one another like a chain of beauty.
"You know how teenagers waste away their youth by covering the days with cigarette ashes and corrupting their lungs?"
I shrugged, not aware of the life of a teenager who lives so freely, so delicately, passing through one party to another, driving alcohol fast down their throats.
"They are actually the lucky ones." Her voice shook as she placed her crown of flowers onto her head, feeling like a queen of misery.
"How are they the lucky ones?"
"Well, they are free. They are living this moment, the present, not thinking about the future. After all, the future is just a faded echo of 'what ifs'. There are no what-ifs for them. They are free. No chains are tied against their ankles. While we? Oh, we're bound to hell."
I sighed and lay down near her, staring at the clouds above us. "They're breathing...while we're suffocating."
YOU ARE READING
therapy
Short Story"they told us that we needed therapy, as if medication and tainted words could fix broken toys."
