I don’t have words to say anything. they are not words they are feelings.
I don’t feel odd writing this. Just… so mature. I’m 17 going on 18, the age you’ll be when you read this for the first time. I don’t know how I’ll be then. Sometimes cranky, over-worked, cynical, the way I see my parents are today. But I don’t want you to see only that me. Maybe I’ll be hardworking, happy and eccentric. For you, I want to preserve some of my ideas, my optimism and my ideals. I want you to meet me, at your age, so many years from now. Beware… I was considered boring, by some.
Right now I’m changing. In small ways, and big. I’ve seen a certain amount of heart break (no doubt I’ll see more) and a great deal of love, more than I could ever wish for. My morals, my ideals, my resolutions, my wants and my beliefs are being formed, being…
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