Punk 57

by Penelope Douglas

It feels like shit to be alone. To be in a place full of people and feel like they don’t want you there. To feel like you’re at a party you weren’t invited to. No one even knows your name. No one wants to. No one cares.

Are they laughing at you? Talking about you?

I learned a long time ago that you don’t need to reveal everything inside of you to the people around you. They like to judge, and I’m happier when they don’t. Some things stay hidden.

You don’t want to be alone in high school, and if you have friends—good ones or not—you have a little power.

High school is like prison in that way. You can’t make it on your own.

Now I’m not alone anymore, but am I happier?

“Getting you a teddy bear,” he answers

I hate recess. I should’ve just stayed in the classroom and colored or wrote in my journal or something. I want them to know I’m here, though. I want them to see me.

I don’t like being forgotten.

I miss you every day, I write. You’re my favorite place.

But I guess my absolute favorite place, other than you, of course, is my house.

The world isn’t always what’s right in front of you, you know? It’s below, it’s above, it’s out there somewhere. Every burn of every light inside every house I see when I look down from the rooftop has a story.

Sometimes we just need to change our perspective.

And everything I’ve always found incredible about her will be gone.

Eventually we all have to weigh what we want more: wanting back what we had or wanting what could be. To stay or to risk everything to move forward.

And I know right then and there I want to be the only girl he ever looks at like that.

“You’re not average, and you’re not stuck-up. You piss me off, but you excite me.”

“Bridge to Terabithia is my favorite book.”

“I don’t get along with my sister,” I admit, “and I don’t feel close to my mom anymore. I know a lot of it is my fault. My armor got too thick, and I stopped letting people in.”

Anything to not need you, Anything to not fall for you, Anything to look at a girl who’s not you, But baby, there’s nothing but you.

“You’re an incredible pain in the ass, but God, I love y—” He stops, and my breath catches in my throat.

I grip the steering wheel, rubbing my eyes with my other hand.

lol been there

We were perfect for each other.

Until we met.