Dear December,
We had the concert tonight. I was nervous and I didn't know I was supposed to bring my blue book and my solo was the start of the first song, and boy, everyone looked so tall. Well, I felt tall, too.
My solo, save for the first note, was actually pretty good. The first few beats, the waves of sweat and nerves swell, but by the third measure it crests and crashes and I am am all music and a faint grin.
It used to be like that with running, but the fatigue doesn't stop when my feet begin to pound anymore. I don't know what happened, but suddenly it was just sweat and no feeling.
Then there was music, and now running doesn't matter so much to me.
Anyway, my music teacher wasn't as angry as I thought she would. She wasn't as anything, honestly. We ended up getting first place (what??!) and the plaques were plastic and garish. It's wasn't a great parade, but apparently it would remain as if it was to unassuming students who saw the awards up on our walls. I felt a little cheated of my anxiety. I felt so bad, so why were things surprisingly okay? The world is weird, but so am I. Anyway, I did get to try out a mellophone the day of the parade, one of the college students let me. I didn't tell you because I felt like crap and nothing could have really redeemed that day, not really. But I got to do that, and I think I'll stick to my horn.
I should sleep now, but December, you must know, there are some pretty amazing people on this site [Polyvore].
Esther
YOU ARE READING
dear december
No FicciónContinued from last month's Dear November letters. A little less angsty, a little more poetic. Originally done on Polyvore, by @writingtips' and @smileylina 's suggestion, who got the idea from Youtuber Carrie Fletcher's series 'Letters to Autumn'.
