hannahbnana125
First it’s a crutch, an aide up the hill. Now it’s a sword, it can thrust and parry; making your way to victory. Now it’s a structure, a support for your tent, where you hide and plot and plan and invent. When you’ve made it back home, your mom tells you no, and sadly you leave your friend stick in the snow.
Dangerous, doing things to upset my mother, beer, parties, strange people, breaks at the barn, loud music that I don't really like but will pretend to because I don't want to seem uncool, listening to drama that has nothing to do with me, sweet, salty, bad for the lungs, refreshing.