You're freshly seventeen and your friends are laughing and your cheeks are flushed and you're standing in a parking lot thirty minutes to curfew and you realize, "I made it, I made it, I made it."
You didn't think you'd still be breathing by now, but you are. And there are people who think you are special and funny and kind and maybe tonight you'll let yourself believe them.
And somewhere out there there is a boy and he loves you and you love him even when it hurts.
Somehow, you are here, and you are happy, and this is all you'll ever need.
YOU ARE READING
Recovery
PoesieWritings that helped me recover and will hopefully help you. Some might be mine.
