The Blood Book- Monologues

The Later

Two Years later.

It hasn't stopped. 

I remember crying in my basement, looking out the window at the sun. It was a mockery, like some beacon of hope that no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't reach. 

I was almost 16. 

Two years later, and I refute my statement. 

It was never just a birthday. 

It was never just a change that would never come. 

It was hope.

Hope, that for ONE DAY, I deserved to be happy. 

For ONE DAY,  that I could be praised, without feeling guilt.

For ONE DAY, every fear, stress, anxiety, anger, and desperation would all be gone. 

But that's not possible.

Change never happens in a day. 

A birthday wish won't change anything, it's not 16 candles. 

But there's hope. 

And hope does nothing, nothing but ferment, rot, waiting like a wish that can never be achieved. 

So when I blow out my candles this year, I won't wish.

I'll do.

And then I'll see just how great I can become in the later.