callicallahan
She regretted not attending camp. If she had, her life would be different right. She would be successful at every test put before her and she would have no regrets.
She was used to people telling her she was wealthy. When she saw something she wanted, her friends would urge her to not check the prices. "Come on, you know you can buy it".
She always applied her bare minerals makeup before she left the house. Sometimes she would even apply it before she went to bed, to cover any circumstance of fire or other emergency forcing her into the public without warning or consent.
She played the piano daily. After 3pm, she would sit down for two hours, running her hands over keys she couldn't see. The sound would be considered noise to any stranger passing by the one story house, but to her, the music let her dream in images.
When asked about the trait she liked best about herself, she internally would answer "my aura". But, she quickly came to realize that such traits are not respected in a competitive world. First impressions are everything and unfortunately people are more interested in face value than anything deeper.
The horizon was fuzzy. No one knew what was to come. A soft ball of white was raising its face, coming to cleanse everyone's insecurities.
She wasn't sure what laid beyond the horizon for her. The future was scary. She was confident in who she was and where things stood, but the ever present mystery of the horizon filled her with a knotted heart.
She was no longer sure what essential meant to her. She use to think that her hobbies her essential, but she was beginning to realize that life offered many paths and no single path was more essential to follow than another. She used to think that friends were essential, and although she still believed friendship to be necessary, she also realized that there were many people out there that she was bound to meet in life and no single person was essential to her happiness.
Art was essential; a breath her life desperately required. Without art, life became blurry and distant, something intangible. Art was the only way she found it possible to accept the aliveness of life and not become caught in an inescapable and imprisoning routine.
She went through her phone, looking at old pictures and text messages. There were reminders of him she hadn't remembered keeping. Why did she still have them? Was she afraid that letting go would mean she would forget? She wasn't sure. But she knew one thing; the only way she would ever feel worth loving was if she stopped worrying about validating a mere memory. She hit the trashcan button, and took the satisfying risk of welcoming clearance into her life.
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