June 12, 2016
Dear, Maker
I graduated. I mean, I really wasn't supposed to, or so teachers like Mr. Moore told me. But my father told me that I could do it. And he was right. Today was the day that I walked across the stage in that horrible yellow cap and gown, listening to my father's lone whistle as he cheered for me, as I accepted my diploma. It was a perfect day. We even went to get ice cream.
But I couldn't help but let the sadness in, the way it took over me in waves, as I realized you should be here to see this...to see me. I know. I promised my therapist I wouldn't be angry with you, but I still can't help it. I can't. Sometimes the bad...it gets in and it refuses to go. Like some kind of sickness you can't control.
I decided that I'd write these letters. To you. In hopes that some of the anger will go away, that some of the unwelcome sadness will leave. I hope you don't mind, but I would appreciate it if you wouldn't respond. You don't even have to read these, but I was informed that they could be helpful. My therapist, Dr. Raven suggested it when the entire bottle of pills I took didn't work.
But I don't want to talk about that.
With mutuality,
Sam.
YOU ARE READING
Window Flower
RomanceSam is an 18 year old boy with autism. He didn't expect to graduate high school and he doesn't think he's ready for the rest of the world, especially if it's bigger than what high school was. During his final summer at home, Sam is met by his new ne...
