1. Pretty Sad

The things I remember most aren't ugly. The things I remember most are sad. They are rain and tear drops on flowers and piano playlists alone in my bedroom on a late summer night.
I remember all the crying. My sixteen year old self screaming silently into a pillow, agony, curled up in a ball at the foot of my mattress. The cold wood floor more welcoming than my parents arms.
The truth about being sixteen is that nothing seems right. The truth about me at sixteen is that one week I wanted to die and the next I wanted to run away to the desert and bury my feet in the sand, hand in hand with some imaginary exotic bad boy who would light fireworks in my heart as we drove off into the sunset.