Some days, I want to die.
I lay on my bed and forget to breathe, calling people just to cry and waiting for the anxiety to leave me.
I examine myself in the mirror, skip meals, avoid my parents. The loneliness is overwhelming, and I cannot cope.
Yet, on other days, everything is beautiful.
I dive into books that take me away other places. The rain is soft but constant, and the smell of coffee wakes me up in the morning.
I shop as a typical girl would and come home to write poetry by night, my hair thrown up messily and my tongue sticking out of my mouth.
And such is life. It ebbs and flows like music, rising and falling and climaxing into moments that we never forget. So bittersweet, and so unexpected. I drift on my feelings, embracing all of it while I can, while I am seventeen and soulful and free.
I am happy, and I am sad.
I am emotional, and therefore, I am alive.