It’s a warm Saturday night, with neon lights, loud music, and smell of pizza in the air. I got to the rink just at 8:30pm for Bree’s birthday party. If I’m being honest, I’m not even sure why I came in the first place. These girls aren’t even my friends. We aren’t really interested in the same things. I feel like I’m just trying to conform to a standard that definitely won’t matter when high school is over. But, here I am.
Writing is something that seems like something I would enjoy on paper. The smell of new journals, the sound of pen and paper or typing on a computer, coffee stains(or tea stains, I like both tea and coffee, tbh). I find that the biggest challenge I have with writing anything is silencing my inner critic temporarily and just deciding to go for it.