I threw a huge tantrum. By myself. Clothes, blankets, toys, they were all strewn around my room, which wasn't really big. Breathing heavily, I collapsed onto the bed and cried, screaming silently. Parent's logic made absolutely no sense, at least not to me, right now. They take the most irrelevant things and turn it into a form of punishment, and throwing the past back in your face instead of keeping them where they belong, buried in your mind. My mother yelled at me on the way back from art class, calling me a distraction, saying that I was a terrible friend for letting my buddy waste all that money and time talking to me. My friend sat in the backseat of the car, looking out the window in awkward silence.
Note: The only time I talked to her? I asked to borrow an eraser.
Nothing made sense to me at this point and yelling back was futile. I got home, ran up to my room and slammed the door. Then here I was, lying down on my bed and my tear stained pillow, as well as a giant mess I had to clean up. I took out a lined piece of paper and drove my rage into my writing. Adults have no logic.
I wrote for half an hour, until 10:46PM. I finished, folded my paper to fit inside the envelope, and sealed my feelings away.
ΔΙΑΒΑΖΕΙΣ
Letters
Μικρού ΜήκουςA million thoughts ran through my head, but not one of them provided me with an escape route from this misery I was living through. My tears went unseen, my hurt unknown. My paper feelings began to crumble until I found something to take away some...
