So, I’m the 18 year old weirdo… Not your average teen: sitting around after a two hour class, enchanting my mates with tales of my encounters with boys or female gossip. Going for lunch in the afternoons at the latest joints, and giggling my free time away.
Instead, I am a grey- haired doctor’s patient, seated in the wards, with women twice my age. It isn’t my first time, and I shouldn’t be that shaken, but instead I am twice shy. Scared out of my skin. I keep telling myself that I know what to expect, but do I really?
Every experience has its perks, and as much as I am praying that it is my second and last time to have my chest torn apart, I am uncertain of the future.
I sit on my bed; outward invincible, inward destroyed. I guess we really don’t choose the when, where and the how… we only savor the liberty of selecting the who. I am me; no one else can be me. No one else can endure my pain.
The story that is my life.
No comments:
Post a Comment