I'm sitting on the roof. There is a little window on the ceiling of my room that I climb out of a lot to look up at the sky. Sometimes I just need to get away from everything-everyone-. I look out at the buildings and think about how much world there is beyond the tiny little city like town I live in. I breathe in the fresh, sweet smelling air from the yellow roses the old lady living next door to us grows. This is my last night of summer. We go back to school tomorrow and I'm not sure how I feel about it. The school year and summer isn't much different for me. I just spend my days ignoring the people around me, listening to my music, and mashing the different songs I hear together.
Sometimes I can't think of anything to mix. If that's the case then I grab my sketchbook and start drawing. I draw what I hear in the music. When I can't think of anything to draw or listen to, I get this feeling inside of me that feels like writers block. I call it my rock.
Rocks are solid and some are unbreakable. You can't get through it and sometimes it blocks your way of getting somewhere. I think that's kind of what my writers block rock is. What I am. Either way, music and drawing are my life, because there is nothing and nobody else to be a part of my life to change that.
YOU ARE READING
Solid as a rock
RandomAbigail Anderson is a 17 year old high schooler who finds it hard to deal with everyday life. When her mom died, she stopped being able to feel real feelings. She stopped acting normal and became the social outcast. The only thing she has is music...
