One of the more scarier things about being a teenager, is feeling yourself slip. Slipping until all that is left of you is merely a shell of your former self. There was a difference between them from how they were when they were 12, it was only two years since then but a lot had changed. A composing sadness was still present, just more prominent in some ways and less so in others. They had their "friends", people that they often doubted as more than acquaintances to keep them busy when they were bored. They didn't write as much as they use to, that creative flow managed to leave them alongside the feeling of being alive. They weren't living, they were just breathing, they didn't feel alive anymore. They didn't want to make it sound like a cliche teenager tragedy, but that was what their life was becoming.
They understood it could be worse, they could be taking their last breath from a hospital bed that very moment, body racked with cancer and leaving them unable to be what they once were. They understood they could be starving on the streets with nowhere to sleep, nothing to keep them warm at night in the brisk and chilling air. But just because someone else's pain is greater than yours, doesn't mean you can't cry at all. So they cried. They cried a lot.
ESTÁS LEYENDO
Everything I Didn't Say
De TodoA collection of writing excerpts that have found themselves forgotten about in my drive.
