Status: Being Re-Written
The Pulchritudinously Hideous Exception
1
I unfold my large striped comforter and lay it across my bed, sneaking a peek across the room to see the rest of the boxes that I have yet to unpack. Yikes. It's hard to believe I've been here for four days already and still have yet to unpack everything. I don't even own much!
I proceed to finish making my bed before flopping down across it. I breathe steadily and play with the strings on my sweatpants. I'm finally back home. Well, back in North Attleboro at least. The house I grew up in probably has some young family living in it.
I never pictured myself coming back here, especially after what happened when I was a teenager. I still don't quite understand why it bothers me, but every time I think about what happened my skin crawls and my shame bubbles up inside as the scars on my light skin burn with regret. Everyone makes stupid decisions when they're young and upset, I am no exception.
Despite the regret and overall shame of what I let a teenage boy do to me, I wonder if he still thinks about me. I wonder if he ever missed our friendship after I left. I just wonder sometimes, but I have learned that wondering about people who never wonder about you is bad, very bad. So I shake all these thoughts from my head. I came here as a college transfer to finally get a degree in art. After this year I can leave and put everything behind me once more. The past is the past. Besides, the odds of him still being here and going to the same college and being in any of my classes is next to impossible. At least that's what I keep telling myself so I don't wuss out of attending my first day of college tomorrow.
I proceed to finish making my bed before flopping down across it. I breathe steadily and play with the strings on my sweatpants. I'm finally back home. Well, back in North Attleboro at least. The house I grew up in probably has some young family living in it.
I never pictured myself coming back here, especially after what happened when I was a teenager. I still don't quite understand why it bothers me, but every time I think about what happened my skin crawls and my shame bubbles up inside as the scars on my light skin burn with regret. Everyone makes stupid decisions when they're young and upset, I am no exception.
Despite the regret and overall shame of what I let a teenage boy do to me, I wonder if he still thinks about me. I wonder if he ever missed our friendship after I left. I just wonder sometimes, but I have learned that wondering about people who never wonder about you is bad, very bad. So I shake all these thoughts from my head. I came here as a college transfer to finally get a degree in art. After this year I can leave and put everything behind me once more. The past is the past. Besides, the odds of him still being here and going to the same college and being in any of my classes is next to impossible. At least that's what I keep telling myself so I don't wuss out of attending my first day of college tomorrow.
♠ ♠ ♠
No dialogue in this, but soon. Just a short intro to peak some interest in who "he" is and what actually happened. I don't know, we will see where this takes us. Join me on this journey of "Taylor tries to write for the first time in three years." Comments and constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated!