I wish I forgave myself easily instead of carrying all these frogs around in my satchel as if I know what to do with them. Tomorrow is my first day of being eighteen and there's a well inside me, and sometimes I think the sun (i) am strong enough for it to dry out but the seasons fluctuate, and it feels terrible to wade knee-deep in water. Collectively, I wonder if I've changed. I wonder if I've managed to make a home for myself in myself, or if I've taken the easy way out and settled for a nice mushroom cottage. I'd rather be there than here, and it all gets very unbearable sometimes, like I find half my blanket on the floor in the middle of the night. Like, I think to myself, 'I look so stupid with this bag', like I wake up and wonder if I'll learn how to sew today because that means something more instead of wondering what the point of this home is. nobody said it was easy. Nobody believes in that. The trick is, to learn how to swim. To find your own rhythm. To let your frogs hop from one lily pad to the other. To nurture the ecosystem that lives in you. Today is my last day of being seventeen, and it isn't so extraordinary, but there's still something magical growing inside me. Maybe one day you'll see it too, but I don't need you to.
My last day of being seventeen 24-09-2018
Author
Cerene
The Abandoned Woman, Female
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