the time you get stitches on your chin when you are four and the amount is double that a result of your careless brother sitting your back and your face meeting the ground with too much force you aren't afraid though you lay quiet as a doctor sews you back to one piece this is bravery at its finest
the boy with the angry voice and heavy hands teaches you to cower
the first panic attack with the salted swelling of your breath, the invisible hands wringing your neck into a knot you cannot untie, the drenched palms and the pinching of your skin to bring you back down to earth you think you are dying, you aren't you wonder if this will happen again, it will
the dark of your uncle's funeral your family's tears compiling next to the plate of poppyseed bagels that nobody eats there is a silence that everybody seems to avoid and the sound of your unexplainable innapropriate laughter accompanying grief
your first kiss in someone's back bedroom and your body turning on vibrate mode ringing with excitement, a smile numb from it's inability to escape
making out on the top of the movie theatre stairs at the mall on Fridays
the time you sneak out to meet up with older boys, the thrill coming from the risk you trade tongues at 1 am and make it back in bed before mom and dad notice
the blacked out memory of your first time, in between his cartoon printed childhood sheets you are fifteen and the **** and alcohol in your system make it harder to remember clearly it is less of an event and more just a blurry moment
the nights with cough medicine and a handful of crushed pills up your nose and how it easily could have been too much
the halloween party with the dimmed lights and the red cups the hammock in the back and the black basement couch and her wrists the week after everyone found out what had happened on it the word **** tied on to the back of her jeans for the rest of high school along with her self-destruction
the kid who threw himself in front of the train we all took to get to the city
the quiet in the school hallways the week after the drive-by
swallowing the word cancer and feeling every wall of your stomach turn ash
watching your father lose his hair like little pieces of the future
cursing out your chemistry teacher 6th period and being sent to the principals office then loudly cracking your knuckles during saturday detention
eating ice cream in Haley's bed after finding out he cheated on her telling her it will be okay and believing it
laying in bed for three days straight and ignoring any words of reassurance depression settling comfortably inside your bone marrow
the comfort in his eyes and a sense of understanding nobody else had
your purple bedroom walls and your purple bedding and your purple curtains and the pile of innocence disguised as stuffed animals sitting in the corner of your room
every book you've ever loved
every song that's made your heart lunge
every human you ever thought of as you were falling asleep