She sits and waits underneath the starless sky. A book is in her lap, but she isnrsquo;t paying attention to the words on the vanilla pages. Her mind is elsewhere, lost in the thoughts that have captured her, bonded her. As she sits here she wished that she never came to college, she wishes that she had a do over button so she could just go back to when she was a little girl and nothing mattered. But even that is impossible, because she knows that even when she was just a child everything mattered because she had to grow up so fast ndash; too fast. So here she sits, wishing and dreaming, hoping and thinking.
�
College was supposed to be the time of her unveiling, when she blossomed out of the cocoon that kept her tied up and withdrawn in high school, but it is all the same here. Her thoughts are lost among the voices of her confident classmates and her social life is nonexistent. She came to college hoping to make friends; she came here with the idea that things would change from the ugliness that was her four years in high school.
�
ldquo;Life isnrsquo;t supposed to be this bad, I should be able to be happy.rdquo; She writes in her journal, her only companion. ldquo;Whatrsquo;s wrong with me that Irsquo;m so messed up, so up and down, so confused?rdquo;
�
She has had this journal since the start of her last year in high school. Sure, she had other journals before, but they never seemed to last longer than a few weeks when the high faded. But this one, this one is different. This red, spiral bound journal with the colored edges has lasted the year and come out tattered and weathered with wear; it has come out with the girlrsquo;s love written all over itrsquo;s pages. This journal holds her memories, her poems, her thoughts, rants, praises and wishes.
�
ldquo;If only things would change, if only I could change. If only thing would get better, if only the world would turn back around and right itself because it feels like everything is upside down. It feels like everything is spinning, like Irsquo;m spinning and watching the world fall apart. If only I could be different, if only I could be better, then everything would be right. If only I had the confidence my classmates seem to possess, if only I wasnrsquo;t sohellip; strange.rdquo; She wrote out in her journal, letting the tears that rolled off her cheeks and onto the paper say what words could not express. She kept on writing, ldquo;but I sort of like being strange ndash; being different. It is the only thing thatrsquo;s been constant; it is who I am. Irsquo;m not like them; Irsquo;m a different sort of creature. That doesnrsquo;t make me any less of a person; in fact I think it makes me more of a person. I just wish I knew someone else who thought like me. I donrsquo;t want to be the only one out there, there has to be someone else like me.rdquo;
�
She dated the page, and closed the book that held her life between its pages and closed her eyes. It had been dark for hours, but she only just noticed the darkness now. She gave herself away to her senses and let her body feel the chill in the air, let herself imagine the star streak sky. She really listened to the sounds of the night, the train whistling in the distance, the crickets chirping in the grass, the gently hum of the night as everything fell into place, as she fell into place.
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