A Time for Love

Part 1: Day 1 - 2019

I'm a complete and total failure to all the things I set out for myself. No, scratch that, I fail at even failing. A proper person, when they fall, falls with style. Not me, I'm tumbling down the hill.

See, there's a difference in being a total failure that one would write a book about, then there's the failure that succeeds just a teensy bit before going back to just plain sucking.

I was one of those kids that came late and was totally unexpected. My father was a dark skinned man that totally knocked my mother off her feet, before plain downward spiraling.

My half sister was the first to get married. Nearly everyone came. I was crying in the back. Only 11 years old.

I got over weddings for a while, until my last cousin (on both my mom and dad's side) recently got married. We are at their wedding right now.

She looks so beautiful. Her hairband and dress is glittering. She looks like a fairy princess, and there are tears in her eyes.

My grandma Mimi pulls through. Only sparingly. I can't tell what she thinks about weddings after her only husband left her 20 years ago, only that she's happy for my cousin to be married after so long. Weddings are a beautiful thing. Still, the whole "death to us part" thing was lost on my grandmother after my grandad left her.

As a teenager, I was an "emo" child bordering on scene, though just "bordering." I worshipped the lyrics of Paramore, thought Demi Lovato was my soulmate, and secretly stashed the Twilight novels under my bed - though I assured all my friends that Harry Potter surpassed it in all forms of intellectual superiority. I even secretly hid Jonas Brothers songs on a secret iPod that was maintained independently via the bribery of my little sister getting me into them.

I even tried to cut myself before it started being cool. Don't get alarmed, it was literally nothing. It started after a stupid teenager fight with my mom. I thought I was so fucking edgy. Sad, ranting music followed by ballads of Wicked.

"I said I was sorry" said my mother through the door. "You're not doing anything in there are you?"

"No mom!" I yelled. "I'm just listening to my mistakes. I'm imagining a rocker-musical ballad. Like Mamma Mia - only more rock."

I slashed the pocket knife across my leg, only to see that my angry slash without looking (because I was so damn afraid to really hurt myself) only tore a hole in my jeans. Oh my god! Where am I going to get new jeans? I can't even hurt myself right.

"Like Queen?" asked my nerdy dad. "I'm proud of you. Kiddo I have tacos. Come on out."

"No! Not like Queen!" (Of course, it was totally Queen that all the songs sounded like.)

Mom jostled at the door.

"Honey, open up."

"I'm just gonna take a shower" I reply, throwing the pants under my bed.

I vowed to never cut myself again.