If we wrote our lives in a book
Then mine would mostly be written
In chicken scratch.
Impossible to read
Yet full of character.

The people who can understand
Why my handwriting is so poor
Are the people
Who have been through similar trials,
And can understand how hard it is
To write with trembling hands.

Most chapters would be short
And less than detailed
Because who wants to hear
About things like being grounded… a lot.

Age 3: My earliest memory…getting a TV on Christmas Day.

Age 6: Mom doesn’t love Dad anymore.

Age 8: Learning how to write in cursive…who actually uses this. Also, I got to open 100 packs of Pokemon cards on my birthday!

Age 10: Rejected on valentines day for the first time, but definitely not the last.

12: I started to write in red ink.

15: I found a girl.

18: Lost the girl. Oh, and sex is not all it was cracked up to be, but band is pretty cool.

19. You.

This is where it all changed.

I started to try and fill our pages
With memories written in cursive,
But I hadn’t practiced since I was 8,
So things came out messy…but I’m trying.

Your chapter gradually became perfect.
Every “i” was dotted, and all of the “t“‘s
Even the tails on the “p”s and “q”s
Were all on the correct side,
Which is harder than you might think,
But I tried for you.

Then the chapter had to end…
In a way that I still am not ready for.
I keep a bookmark there, hoping that I can come back,
But most of me knows that I shouldn’t.

I still kept my handwriting somewhat neat
In hopes that if you ever peeked,
You would get the impression that I’m doing okay,
But really, I’m not.
I tried to end my story on my own,
Using red ink and just drawing lines to fill up pages
So I could get to the end sooner than I was supposed to
Because let’s face it
I wanted it to end with yours anyway.

Yet it hasn’t…and odds are that it won’t.
Every day, I work towards being okay with that.

22. Recovering from depression, but recovering nonetheless.