Sometimes A Question Can Hurt More Than

I Was Actually Kind Of A Hot Mess In High School. I Did A Lot Of Things In High School I'm Not Proud Of. I Wasn't A Good Student And I Wasn't Particularly A Good Daughter. I Wasn't Very Engaged.

It Was Like Those Songs I'd Heard As A Child, Each So Familiar, And All Mine. When I Got Older And Realized The Words Were Sad, The Stories Tragic, It Didn't Make Me Love Them Any Less. By Then They Were Already Part Of Me, Woven Into My Conciousness & Memory

After All, It's All Kinds Of Things That Make Up A Life, Right? The Big, Like Falling In Love And Spending Time With Your Family, And The Little....like Blow Drying Your Hair, Applying Concealer, And Cursing Those Magazine Inserts. It All Counts. It Has To.

He Was Looking At Me, Jsut As I'd Thought He Would Be, But Like Bert's, His Light Was Not What I Expected. No Pity, No Sadness: Nothing Had Changed. I Realized All The Times I'd Felt People Stare At Me, Their Faces Had Been Pictures, Abstracts. None Of Them Were Mirrors, Able To Reflect Back The Expression I Thought One I Wore, The Feelings Only I Felt.

But I Think, Personally, That It Would Be Worse To Have Been Alone All That Time. Sure, Maybe I Would Have Protected My Heart From Some Things, But Would That Really Have Been Better? To Hold Myself Apart Because I Was Too Scared That Something Might No Be Forever?