I’m the Unknown Wings, for Your Perfect Dreams
Chapter One: The Letter
Somehow in my life I’ve always been the one at fault, the one who’s at the wrong place at the wrong time, the one who can’t seem to catch a break. Who can’t seem to hit the ground running. Crashing and burning seems to be my lifestyle. And while it will lead to some achievements some day, or at least I hope. It’s looking pretty bad down here for me.
Don’t get this feeling that I say I’m always right, or that I’m depressed and I don’t even understand most things. To be honest, I’m sure I don’t. With all due respect, I don’t want to either, I was never good at sympathy...to say the least.
But that’s not why I’m sending this letter to you, whoever you are.
I know it’s not practical for me to spill out my guts to a perfect stranger, but you’re supposed to be here to make my life better, and let’s all hope that you will.
On that topic, hope is a strange word isn’t it?
All the guidance counselors, parents, teachers, someone who might give me some good wisdom had always said to me that hope would be the best way to make it through.
Not that I disregard their opinions, but I was just wondering as they say things like that to me, what good would hope do in madness and drama of the average teenage life?
I’d have more success armed with a spray bottle to put out a raging Yellowstone park wildfire then to believe that I’ll make it through everything if I just hope.
Interesting, however that hope is the root of hopeless. In a technical state its saying that you must have had hoped in some fashion in order to loose it. What about people like me, who are hopeful of good things, but are too hopeless to believe it’ll happen?
I guess I just have an issue with over thinking things, adding drama where it doesn’t belong, but that’s me, and I see no point in changing it if I don’t think I can change the way it has always been.
Anyway, thank you for reading this, I needed a rant.
Sincerely Yours,
C.K.
I swung my brown bangs away from my face as my fingers finished their dance among the keys. I read over my letter to the peer mediator person, whom hopefully will understand things a lot better then the adults.
And, again with the word hopefully, they will even write back.
I need someone to talk to; it’s hard not to think about being alone in times like this.
I printed out the letter, after taking my old laptop upstairs to office and connecting it to the printer, I put it in a envelope and shut it closed, writing confidential on the middle of it in thick bold sharpie letters.
My face concealed the stress of it al, what would happen if someone actually found this?
The thoughts tore at my mind. I thought about all the possible consequences it might give me. I realized that it was more then just a bad idea; it could throw my whole world into turmoil. Not that I didn’t expect it to be like that already.
Tomorrow was another day, another day to think about it, another day to plead for my sanity. Especially, tomorrow was another day full of mistakes, and full of answerless problems.
Don’t get this feeling that I say I’m always right, or that I’m depressed and I don’t even understand most things. To be honest, I’m sure I don’t. With all due respect, I don’t want to either, I was never good at sympathy...to say the least.
But that’s not why I’m sending this letter to you, whoever you are.
I know it’s not practical for me to spill out my guts to a perfect stranger, but you’re supposed to be here to make my life better, and let’s all hope that you will.
On that topic, hope is a strange word isn’t it?
All the guidance counselors, parents, teachers, someone who might give me some good wisdom had always said to me that hope would be the best way to make it through.
Not that I disregard their opinions, but I was just wondering as they say things like that to me, what good would hope do in madness and drama of the average teenage life?
I’d have more success armed with a spray bottle to put out a raging Yellowstone park wildfire then to believe that I’ll make it through everything if I just hope.
Interesting, however that hope is the root of hopeless. In a technical state its saying that you must have had hoped in some fashion in order to loose it. What about people like me, who are hopeful of good things, but are too hopeless to believe it’ll happen?
I guess I just have an issue with over thinking things, adding drama where it doesn’t belong, but that’s me, and I see no point in changing it if I don’t think I can change the way it has always been.
Anyway, thank you for reading this, I needed a rant.
Sincerely Yours,
C.K.
I swung my brown bangs away from my face as my fingers finished their dance among the keys. I read over my letter to the peer mediator person, whom hopefully will understand things a lot better then the adults.
And, again with the word hopefully, they will even write back.
I need someone to talk to; it’s hard not to think about being alone in times like this.
I printed out the letter, after taking my old laptop upstairs to office and connecting it to the printer, I put it in a envelope and shut it closed, writing confidential on the middle of it in thick bold sharpie letters.
My face concealed the stress of it al, what would happen if someone actually found this?
The thoughts tore at my mind. I thought about all the possible consequences it might give me. I realized that it was more then just a bad idea; it could throw my whole world into turmoil. Not that I didn’t expect it to be like that already.
Tomorrow was another day, another day to think about it, another day to plead for my sanity. Especially, tomorrow was another day full of mistakes, and full of answerless problems.