This page. This limited amount of space. I have to stay in the page, in the lines, on the paper. Everybody does that, it's like everybody has to be perfect. But how. Because nobody can be perfect no matter how hard they try. People say nothings impossible. That's not true. Because know one. Not a single person can be perfect. If we were all perfect, we would all act the same. All be unoriginal, not unique. Imagine. You were playing soccer. The defender would know what you were going to do, how you were going to get around them. Or, writing. Every single person would be writing the same thing. Everybody would like the same foods, the same sport. They would all have the same hair style. The same color eyes. The same room design. Same dream. If everyone had the same dream, how would anything get done. How would we move on. How would we revolve,
This paper. It's so blank. So very, very blank. I can imagine all the stories, drawings, and words. They could be written, drawn. They could be cut, painted, ripped. The story is always blank at first. But it always gets better. But a story is never blank. Unless you let it be. Anything can happen.
Everyone needs a joke. Like I mean it. You couldn't live without that little laugh. That one thing that keeps you going. Especially right now. Like, Why do we tell actors to break a leg? Guess! Because every play has a cast. Get it? Even if you don't, tell another joke. It will make someones day.
Vermont. I remember how it used to be. I remember when we went places, and did things. I remember all the big things, and the little ones. It wasn't to long ago, And it can still change. Just keep fighting.
I know summers coming, I can tell. The leaves are green, it's warmer. People change. That's how I know a new school year is coming. The chairs squeak, and teachers talk. People shiver. That's how I know winter is coming. Snow falls, and ponds freeze. People start leaving for trips. That's how I know spring break is coming. People brag about all the cool trips there going on. I can only tell because my instinct tell me. I always wonder what it would be like without them. Imagine if you couldn't hear, or see. Imagine if you couldn't feel, or smell. Imagine if you couldn't taste.
This is what happens. I get picked last, when the worst soccer player gets picked before me. People groan, to have me on there team. We start to play. I don't get passed to. The worst player gets passed to. I run up, steal the ball, From my own team. Yes I know, not good. But I can't go on like this. They know I'm there best player. But I'm a girl. I dribble the soccer ball, down the feild. I pass a defender at lightning speed. I run, showing off my moves, I don't care.I have to prove myself. I am almost there. I am ready to shoot. I draw my foot back. And *BAM* A boy slams into me, like it's football. I scream out in pain, and crumple to the floor. "Oops, that was an accident." The boy who knocked me over, tells the supervising adult. The voice sounds framillar. I know it wasn't and accident, I know he is lying.I look up to see who it is.