Steps. Each step hurts. I’ll fall upon each one like it moves a
mountain each time. Pain. No, numb. Pain is the story of the past.
Like how water holds the history of every creature that walked or
wandered the Earth or ocean before us, pain paints the pigments of the
past, holding fast to the hurt. And, like any artwork, with time,
it’ll fade. Till another comes to replace it.
Yesterday, I died. Today, I live. Tomorrow, I’ll lie.
It starts with the word goodbye. Not hello, but goodbye. Everything
before that was simply the bliss of being ignorant. When they say
goodbye I start writing part of history. From house to house I’ll
move, leave, live, survive. From home to home I’ll flounder like a
fish out of water till some bystander notices that the pet fish is
suffocating everyday. Never, believe what they’ll say. Never, let them
change who you are. Never, listen beyond what you know to be true.
Those are the rules of my world. The rules of the unorthodox, the
forgotten, the fostered.
16 years, 4 months, and 2 days. I’ve been dead for 16 years, 4 months,
and 2 days, but I’ve been alive for 3 hours in the household of the
Welks’. They’re a nice family. The typical. Wife, husband, kids in
college. I want out. Like a fish out of water right. No place more
foreign than untraveled land, especially for me. Although, rationally
speaking, they likely could provide me with a lifestyle that breaks
through every challenge I’ve faced up till now. Good thing I’m not
rational. I’ll leave by this time next week. Don’t blame me.
Looking back, I can’t help but laugh. It sounds like I was this
theatrical teen walking on the edge of the world. But, in reality, I
really was. To me, the worst feeling in the world is a guilty feeling.
One where your very existence makes you feel uncomfortable simply
because you aren’t comfortable. No one should have to feel like their
skin shouldn’t be their own, and the Welk’s taught me that. My parents
changed me. In the past seven years a lot has happened. A lot has
changed. Now, I don’t worry about taking those steps. I don’t fret
over those mountains I'll move. I’m not saying everythings perfect, it
isn’t. It’s more like I’m just saying, “everythings going to be okay”.
So last year, I was dead. This year, I’m alive. And next year, I’ll thrive.
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