Present 1Mature

A girl named Clara trying to find her confidence and that sometimes following your heart isn't always the best choice.

Present 1

    I know what it’s like to feel like you’re drowning. It grabs your heart, and it’s impossible to breathe. You feel like any second your lungs are going to give out, and you’ll just collapse and be swept away by the current. Not being in water but still feeling the symptoms. There is only one difference is that your lungs never give out, and your heart never stops beating.  I know what this feels like, while sitting in a classroom, or on my bed staring at the ceiling, my knees to my chest quietly crying. 

I never used to be like this. There was a time when I had no worries in the world. But that person then was a completely different person to the person I am now. As I sit here in my room on my bed strumming random notes on my acoustic, I look out the window. There was a light snow falling, and a little old man wearing a red hat was out walking his husky.  He was whistling a familiar tune that only someone one living in his generation would know. It sounded very sorrowful as the tune echoed. A squirrel ran across the street, which made the dog bark but it did not run. The loud noise also echoed, bouncing back and forth from the similar looking white houses that lined the street. A day like this brought back so many memories. I set my guitar back in its case. I stood up and stretched my hands over my head, and my loose grey striped topped came up and revealed my pierced belly-button. I walked over to my full length mirror that sat by my bed. In it I saw a person I did not know. A person I hardly recognised. If my old self saw me like this, she would’ve assumed that I was some big drug addict. With my short white blonde hair, that framed my face with side bangs, and a black beanie that I could not live without. I always wore  jeans or leggings. All of which had at least one rip in them. Don’t get me wrong, none of which I bought with them custom designed like that. Each rip has a story of its own. I felt the first rip I had ever received on my upper thigh. The memory is vague, yet crystal clear just the same. I was surprised I had grabbed these jeans to wear. They were the first pants I had ever gotten in my second year. They were a lighter shade of grey, and had grass stains on the knees. All of which I had never intended to get. It’s really mind boggling to think that so many memories, could be intertwined in just one pair of old jeans.

And it all started with a boy.

The End

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