;

Disappointment

  You know those kinds of people who express their disappointment when they describe who their younger self aspired to be? Well, when I was young I didn't aspire, I didn't dream, I didn't fantasise about my future because I thought I didn't have one.
  The thought of existing past 16 seemed unlikely, something like a wild fantasy, a dream straight out of a fiction movie. I don't remember happy memories from my childhood, I grew up at 7, or so I like to say so I have someone like my parents or my upbringing to blame for whatever I've been through. Not a lot, but definitely enough to scar my young soul and heart, so much so that I stopped dreaming, stop wishing for things to happen.
  I didn't ask my parents to buy me clothes anymore and my shirts from when I was 13 start to look almost foreign on my teenage body now. I am almost sixteen now, so I have a couple of months to see if I will exist past that age. Fifteen hasn't been nice to me, but neither has 14 or 13 or even 12. The last time I remember being genuinely happy, well, I don't remember. Maybe I am solely overreacting, but I'm really not.
  Maybe that's why I don't remember wanting to be someone when I was someone. Every time an elder asked me, I vaguely answered merely to satisfy their curious glares. I didn't want to be anything, and now that I look back at it, maybe I just didn't want to be. Nothing particular weighting me down apart from constant pain and melancholy. Not important, huh? I thought so too, and so I slowly started disappearing, leaving without a trance as if I never existed, but then again, my existence is indeed a lie.