Stories, endless stories, used to pour out of my mouth, my thoughts spun tales constantly, many of these with no climax and weak endings but I was always excited to get home and turn my thoughts into words worth reading. I wanted my stories to change someone's perspective, and these days? I barely want to get out of bed, to change my pajamas. My mother could throw two words at me and my pen would scratch paper for hours on the simplest topics, and Noe the only thing j can form intelligent sentences on is how much I miss you. I used to curl up at night with thoughts about God, tigerds, my mom and the delicious pancakes I knew I would wake up to the next morning. Now I seem to have forgotten how to pray and fall asleep to thoughts of you.
My mother says its just a phase, but I know its permanent. Don't get me wrong-I know I'll be happy again but I also know that your heartbreak is the first step of growing the fuck up and there's no going back.
YOU ARE READING
16
Teen Fictionjust a girls opinions on things 16 year olds shouldn't have to deal with but do anyway because life has no rules.
