I'm seventeen
years old now, and I'm doing just fine. I'm obsessed
with love, but I know now isn't my time. Because it's
nearing the end of my junior year, and I still don't know
what I want from here. The problem is I'm good with books,
but that's about the end of it. Yes, I have friends, four I
can talk to, but none I can cry to. I guess I could bare it all
out for them to see, but I'm waiting for the day when I
meet someone who's not just going to leave me. Friends,
I've seen them come and go. So I've made it a habit to
never latch on. I know it's probably not healthy, to keep
all these bursting feelings and thoughts inside of me. I
don't know why I do it. No that's a lie, I know exactly
why I do it. I can't trust. And the silly thing is no one
has ever taught me not to. I just taught myself. After seeing
all the things I can keep to myself, I thought of all sorts of
things my own family or friends could be keeping from me.
Because this is real life. I'm not the narrator or author
here. Things don't go my way, and I don't know the ins
and outs. I don't know everyone's motives and I
can't hear everyone's hushed whispers. I could easily
overlook the side glances and hints. Because I'm another
protagonist here. I also whisper, I also keep things quiet, I
hurt in silence just as loudly. So that's where I stand
today. At seventeen, nearing the end of my schooling days. I go
to school to learn, and catch up with friends who don't
know the least bit about me, since I'm afraid of trusting
and getting hurt.