![]() ![]() And if they do, I always go to the window and look. I've always referred to that as a flex in my life. The forest around my house looks like the forest Bella, the main character in Twilight, lives next to. The one thing that I adore here is the silence. The only negative is not seeing my dad in the crowds at my graduation, in the seat beside my mom, where he is supposed to be. Knowing I don't have to walk through those miserable halls, sit in the tight desks, and eat terrible cafeteria food that more resembled shit than food is a relief. I'm now free of the hell people call school. Yet a positive is that I graduated high school. As you can tell, I'm not a morning person. My tired eyes couldn't handle the bright sun and the long, winding road ahead. I hated driving to school for more than an hour in the morning. Luckily, the last day of school was two days ago. Basically, it's like every town you see in a Hallmark movie. Our main street is lined with self-owned businesses, coffee shops, and bakeries. Our small town is an hour away from the lively city of Toronto. I can't help but wonder, Who's going to move in there? Will they be nice? Do they have children my age who would look at me like I'm a freak? The nice elderly couple who used to live there for many years decided that they needed to downgrade. ![]() It's white with black shutters, and a Sold sign is stuck in the ground, blowing in the wind. I can see their front porch and a couple of windows clearly from my window. No one's around us, just one house miles away next to ours. My dad was just interested and loved the idea of-and I quote-"farmland and living in clean air." I hated it here at first. Our medium-sized house lies on big acreage. He would have wanted me to love her just like he did. But I treat her how Dad would have wanted me to. I'm not sure why she's suddenly pulling back from me, avoiding me like I have a deadly disease. She's gone for most of the day, and she heads up to her room immediately after work. I can't imagine-and hope I never understand-the feeling of losing a husband so brutally as she did. Since that day, she's tried to do everything to make me happy, and I return the favour. What if I'd recorded his voice while he was singing? Would I remember it the same?Īnd would I be strong enough to turn on the radio and listen to a damn song? At night, sometimes, my mind drifts off into what-ifs. When there are reports regarding a new singer or a band on the news, I turn down the volume until it's over. I don't trust people, and I never will, although I wish I could. That explains why I have trust issues, depression, and anger. It takes a lot of energy to push those thoughts aside and look at the positives. My brain tells me that we won't ever find them, that they'll be free to live the rest of their lives how they please-just how my dad was supposed to. ![]()
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