I am determined to write, so here I am – writing. Although I haven’t really thought about what to write about, I am hoping to get some help from you. Any ideas?
Oh, I have one! Do you want me to write about the day you got your first star on your art work? It was probably way back in kindergarten, and even if everyone gets one, I bet you were so proud of yourself. You practically skipped your way home to tell your parents, even. They were equally as proud of you, that your work perhaps had been plastered on the refrigerator door. They might have even brought you to your favorite ice cream parlor. The smile you gave that day was surely the brightest you’ve ever worn.
Or maybe, I can write about how you got your first kiss. I know you’re thinking about it as you read these words. Maybe you were so young... just a child. Or maybe you were a bit older, more mature. No matter what, your first kiss probably made you smile more than once for an entire day. You just can’t stop thinking about it, you might have been specializing the moment, romanticizing and exaggerating it until it fits your ideals. It might have made you happy... or might have hurt you so bad. It’s one or the other, really.
Not really into it? Maybe I can write about the first time you cussed in high school. Remember when you were so young, you haven’t even dreamed of uttering a bad word? You probably just said it because of your peers. Maybe you were scared, or pissed, or sad, or maybe even too happy. Either ways, you’ve probably tried to hide it from your parents. Remember how you were supposed to always act good in front of them? Perhaps you even thought it was cool to have something to hide from them.
Not that? Maybe I can say something about how you first tried alcohol? How you thought it was cool, that your friends said it was okay so you thought it was, too? It probably wasn’t long after you got your first detention. Creating trouble in class was maybe becoming a habit, and who knows? Maybe you were causing trouble outside of it, too.
Then comes college. First time moving out of the house, your parents must have been thrilled to let their child be exposed of the real world. You might have forgotten to leave a few messages, a few calls. They might have told you it was okay even if they really meant the other way around. You were so happy.
Hey, remember that first time you told yourself you were in love? Perhaps you even tried to convince yourself otherwise. In the end you knew, though. You've fallen deep. And you knew that love had its consequences, but you probably took the risk anyway. You did everything for that person. You were ready to sacrifice everything...
Even yourself. The day you first made love was probably a memory that would stick to you forever. That person’s hand intertwined with yours will always remain in your mind. You will always be reminded of that person, even if they broke your heart.
Your first heartbreak was chaos. It brought misery and agony and every other synonym of pain. You were in so much pain that it must have hurt to even wake up in the morning. I bet you were really sad. It might have even lead you to feel depressed.
The first day you tried to get help seemed awfully confusing. You knew you were probably heading for the doctor, but you came straight to your old home. You came running into your parents’ arms. You cried and cried and told them you were hurt so bad. You most likely felt that their pain doubled as soon as you told your story. You were thankful for them. Your parents.
How about the last time you told them you love them? Do you remember? Now that you’re seeing them lie on coffins side by side, knowing that you’re seeing them for the last time, how does it feel? It must hurt so much. They probably would have loved to know about these first times. But they wouldn't know about it anymore. Because the last time you spoke to them, the probability of losing them anytime soon has never crossed your mind.