Postcards and Polaroids

It was cold. Nothing new. I looked outside to see the snow gently falling onto the wet cement. The full moon acted like a spotlight, slowly giving each flake it’s last time to shine before it silently hit the ground. The ground was warm. There would be school tomorrow. The snow wasn’t sticking. I slowly opened the doors to my balcony, careful not to wake my deranged mother, always suspecting someone to break into my room, since they day I moved in. This used to be Haden’s room. Haden was my older brother, and a week from tonight will be the anniversary of his death. Haden was everything a parent would want in a son. He was top of his class, he was the star of the football team, and was all around the sweetest person you would ever meet. But, like all of his friends, Haden liked to drink. Haden loved parties; mainly because Haden had a lot of friends. Haden and I weren’t a lot alike. I don’t have many friends. I’m not top of my class, and I’m not a star athlete. My name is Jessy. You could say I wouldn’t be my parent’s first choice, and there isn’t anything I’m particularly good at. Like every other girl my age, I don’t feel comfortable in my own skin. I don’t know where I belong, or what I want to do with my life. I enjoy photography. And reading. I do a lot of that. Mainly because it doesn’t involve me having to deal with other people. I’m not very good at dealing with other people. I never was a people person. But I do have one friend; my best friend. His name is Kellin. He’s the only one who’s always been there for me; through dealing with losing my brother to the nights I would be kicked out of my own house. Kellin always offered his friendship. Kellin was more like family to me than my actual family. But of course, to complicate things, I was completely and utterly in love with him. And he could never know.