There it goes the sound of slamming doors echoing throughout the hallway. She sits there with her back against the cheap wooden door, head down and earphones in to clam her breathing down. An hour goes by and after listening to same three songs she some how finds the courage to pull the wires out of her ears and bring herself back to reality.

Secretly she wished that you would knock on her door just to talk, just to ask if she is doing alright. Long story short those knocks never came, your hands never even laid an inch on that door. She moves her way over to the bottom of her white chipped night stand; and pulls out numerous amounts of notebooks all of them with hand drawn pictures, lyrics, poems all of them being originals, and inspirational quotes from bands you never heard of.

I wish you could read some of her stuff it was quite amazing for a fourteen year old girl. Maybe you should've knocked on that door but it's to late for second chances now. I wish she kept that green notebook with the black sharpie writing all over it. She carried it around her fresheman year of high school. I wish you could read those poems in that bottom drawer; they told the story of her very first heart break, anger and everything in between.

I wish she still had those notebooks from her early years of high school. It would have showed just how much she grew in the past couple years. Now everything is turned to ash, all up in smoke and her clothes are no longer black. She turns around to walk away, no longer hurt, no longer broken, she finally let go of those notebooks that followed her around.

I was that fourteen year old girl but I bet you barely recognize me now. To the past I owe you a thank you for making me a much stronger person then I have ever been. You choose me to have the strength of a lion, to have self love and confidence; because of all those small things you have created and shapped me into who I am. Piece by piece, word by word and even notebook by notebook.