Awaken by the harsh sound of an alarm clock; she carries the bits and pieces of a dream. Faint light pours into her room from between the spaces in her window shades. All is silent, as every morning is. She feels empty- in a good way. The beginning of the morning is her favorite, when all she remembers is the sweet feeling of a dream she can't remember, though it occurred no more than five minutes ago. She rubs the sleepiness from her eyes and loses whatever recollection of her sleep that she had.
She sits up, touching her feet to the warm carpet. Reality begins returning to her, weighing down on her shoulders. Standing up, she feels the cold morning air circulating through the house. Goosebumps spill over her legs, spreading like a tidal wave. She is forced to remove her roomy flannel pajama bottoms and the soft white cotton short sleeved t-shirt she slept in. Instead she pulls on a rough pair of jeans and a scratchy shirt (usually the first one she can find in her dresser). She will carry resentment with her throughout the day for this unfair change in comfort.
Sitting at her desk, she looks in the mirror. Her eyes alone carry so much. She looks into them, seeing pain. She sees all the sleepless nights, the tears, the anger, the millions of words she's left unsaid and the regret which has followed them; the things she's carried her whole life. Anyone else, if they bothered to look into her eyes, might see the wonder. They might see the blue peacefulness, the green friendliness, and the sparks of golden-brown adventure that her eyes carry; the things she carries every day.
She eats breakfast and brushes her teeth, then grabs her things. She carries a backpack, a laptop case, and a black jacket. These things double in weight when she gets to school. Every step towards her locker adds another five pounds to her luggage. When she reaches her locker, the weight is temporarily removed. As her jacket and backpack are taken off her shoulders, the weight of the world replaces them. Her laptop case is light and easy to carry. Stress, anxiety, worry, and fear, however, are very heavy. She carries the stress of homework, social anxiety; she worries of judgment from teachers and has fear of her peers. Walking to her first class, she carries her feet like boulders, dragging them along.
In classes, her mind runs wild. Hundreds of imaginary pounds of thought are hauled through her mind every second of the day. She thinks about ethics and life, diseases and cures, the past, the future, questions that may never be answered. Danger and adventure, however, outweigh all of the other thoughts. They say the mind is a dangerous place, yet they wonder why she thinks so much. Her mind is deadly. The average person, if able to enter her mind, would not be able to escape. They would get tangled in her confusing thoughts, or caught up staring at the beautiful ones; they would not be able to fight through the tough thoughts, or they might lose track of time watching her memories. Teachers wonder why students constantly rest their heads on their hands. They believe it is because students are not thinking. Oh no, it is quite the opposite. The thoughts carried in students' minds are so heavy; keeping their head up in class is often too difficult.
A sound interrupts her thoughts. Rather, it saves her. It is a beautiful monotone song, consisting of four beats. She is saved by the bell. It lifts a weight from her entire body. It makes her feel lighter. Going to her locker at the end of school is much different than before.
She drops her fear. She lets go of her anxiety, stress, worry, and all other negative thoughts that she's carried all day. They are replaced with happiness. Happiness, security, and comfort are weightless. They are relaxing. Home is where she feels free. She carries herself with pride, her shoulders back, her head held high. She may even dance from room to room, carrying food and her laptop onto her bed. A small grin sneaks onto her face as she plugs in her headphones. Music floods her ears and mind, the lyrics flowing through her thoughts, being processed and cherished. She understands the music, and it makes her feel lighter.
At night, the things she carries are irrelevant. All that exists is sleep. Sleep brings the sweet dream that she will grasp onto in the fresh morning light and cherish as long as she can before the remembrance of it is rubbed away by the sides of her hands on her eyelids. As for now, though, she can sleep peacefully, feeling feather-like, weighed down by no weight- physical or mental, and let her dreams be taken over by every thought that weighed down her mind throughout the day.
The things she carries may never be understood. The things she carries are complicated. They are the past, the future, and every moment in the present. The most important things she carries, however, are things nobody could ever see.
