Wildflower: Dear Diary

Cornflower: 11

Dear Diary,

Here's what happened today.

1/7

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The frigid wind heavily picks up and bites at my skin. I hug my arms around my torso to savor the remaining warmth left in my body. Heat is steadily abandoning my bones and leaving them frozen and hollow as my mind races. I seethe in a slow breath as my eyes shut as if the cold is freezing my eyes. They burn. Why does everything always have to burn and hurt and die? Why can't my limbs and my mind just thrive and feel alive? 

Why does the sky shed its cold tears onto my skin? It's a form of taunting, I'm sure of it. It's irritating and aggravating. It points out everything, doesn't it? The snowflakes that fall hit my bare skin and seep into my heart. And then they use their cold leverage on me to laugh and ask too many questions. 

One of them could be, "Well, why doesn't your dad love you?" Or, "Is this life truly worth it?" The last one chokes me and forces me to think. Is it worth it? Is it really? I could easily spare my parents years of work. Of stress. Of annoyance. Of me. All if I end it while I have it easy. I shouldn't wait until I find a reason to live. That would one: take too long, and two: it would hurt more. If I waited, the blood draining from my body would bleed for everyone that loves me. The foam spilling from my mouth would blind every ounce of hatred. 

But I don't have to wait. Maybe, and just maybe, I could do it now and save everyone the trouble of possibly caring about me. Well, if anything is a sign at all, the cold flakes that descend through the air haven't stopped their torment and are coating my clothing and hair in melting ice. Everything is pointing towards the obvious option. Kill yourself, Ellis.

I tilt my head back against the cool wall of the gym building, finally catching a sight through the flakes on my lashes of what was supposed to be here maybe an hour ago. My dad beeps at me from his blue truck without even looking at me. I shakily stand up on my uninjured leg and stumble towards the truck. I sink into the back seat and shut the car door. 

He doesn't meet my eyes when I'm finally settled in, he never does. I always meet his, though. I know everything about them, I just wish he knew what mine looked like too. His are deeper and darker than mine. A completely different hue too. They are sapphires but could never be as great as the expensive gemstone. They are also dry and lack much shine. I'm not fully sure why that is, but it's true. Maybe it's an eye condition. Maybe that's why he never looks at me. Because it would pain him to do so. 

I don't fight for his attention because that would be too hopeful for my tastes and would likely get me nowhere. His eyes are on the road like the responsible citizen I know he isn't, and mine are trailing the outside world that is speeding by. I would describe it if it wasn't something new every couple of seconds. If I had to though, I would call the ground beside the street green and the sky grey and white with snow.

I never missed this view because I used to see it all the time and got equally bored each time. However, parents of the older generations never fail to spew how it's good to be bored because it leads to creativity. Not this generation, granny. When we get bored, we scroll on our phones for hours or go to sleep. No in between besides like maybe five people. I go to sleep since I don't have a phone. 

It's hard to agree that boredom is good because it's painfully agonizing, but it really does make one think. Well, this time specifically, my mind has been only leading back to one boy. Andrés. I broke something valuable, and I have to make up for it. Talk to him? Make a card? Buy a gift? Make a gift? I name a thousand other choices, but none of them feel right. If I talk to him, I'll surely mess it up and make it worse. I don't know him well enough to buy or make a gift. So that leaves one option. Make a card.