And what if in the future we’re at war again, or we still haven’t elected a non-white or non-male president, or the Rolling Stones are still dragging their tired old butts on stage? That would depress me way too much.
Maybe it’s not as important to you as it was for me, but that’s not for you to decide.
We all know the sound a camera makes when it snaps a picture. Even some of the digitals do it for nostalgia’s sake.
It’s nothing. A school project. My go-to answer for anything. Staying out late? School project. Need extra money? School project.
That’s what I love about poetry. The more abstract, the better. The stuff where you’re not sure what the poet’s talking about. You may have an idea, but you can’t be sure. Not a hundred percent. Each word, specifically chosen, could have a million different meanings.
Maybe if I forgot things once in a while, we’d all be a little bit happier.
And it feels strange, almost sad, to walk through ther empty halls. Each step I take sounds so lonely.
Everything about it was false. Right then, in that office, with the realization that no one knew the truth about my life, my thoughts about the world were shaken.
We both laugh. And it feels good. A release. Like laughing at a funeral. Maybe inappropriate, but definitely needed.
This time, for the first time, I saw the possibilities in giving up. I even found hope in it.
Because our lies matched. It was a sign.
I wanted to tell you everything. And that hurt because some things were too scary. Some things even I didn’t understand. How could I tell someone – someone I was really talking to for the first time – everything I was thinking? I couldn’t. It was too soon.
But they were wrong. There was a reason.
One little ripple started today could create a typhoon fifteen years from now.
I decided to find out how people at school might react if one of the students never came back.
Josh will begin disappearing into a future where the only place he and I remain friends is on the Internet.
I want to look back. To look over my shoulder and see the Stop sign with huge reflective letters, pleading with Hannah. Stop!
I want to collapse. I want to fall on the sidewalk right there and drag myself to the ivy.
And concentrating on the spot where the two spindles should be is the closest I get to looking Hannah’s eyes as she tells my story.
Will I ever get control of my life? Will I always be shoved back and pushed around by those I trust?