September 21, 2011

I thought about all the things to write about. Why not my dad? I think he used to ask me if I wanted to go on a hike just so he could hear me say no. It was probably because he thought it was funny, but maybe, just maybe, it was because he had something certain for the first time in his life. From there I think, why not write about all dads? Everyone is affected by them, whether they know him or not. I see dads with babies and dads who scream. Then a woman walked by and I could see her early pregnant belly peeking out from her sweater. Why not write about mothers as well?

Adolescents decide with determination ‘I will not have kids’. But you grow, and everyone around you is having children. You see this and your body starts to panic, ‘we’re running out of time!’, says your body. So then you start to make hormones, and the clouds in the sky are your children. The neighbors lawn is your children. Soon you need your own, you can’t fight it anymore. Why not just write about people?

I would give anything for things to go back to how they used to be. For the first time in my life, I’m digging my heels into the dirt, trying to turn around and run. It’s like a nightmare, like running through black tar. I’ll never again have what I lost.

I want you back, I want after school pomegranate tea, I want Chester Park and grassy ski hills. I want the smell of your clothes and the color of your eyes. I want all the ways we’d find to touch hands. I miss the way I’d valued my heartbeat.

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