Usually, when I come across my senior year Creative Writing pieces, I question two things— A) How did I think this was good material? and B) How did my teacher give this crap a good grade? However, this short and simple piece I am about to share with you is not like the others. I'm proud and eager to share it with you all because hey if I can read it two years later without cringing— then I must have been on to something. Enjoy!
It's different now. The lake was crystal, but now it's murky. The air tasted fresh, but now it's stale. The sky was clear, but now it's dismissed behind the clouds. That house wan't there before.
The sun glistens on my translucent tears. They chase one another down my cheeks, polluting the soil beneath me. My fists clench the spring green grass trying to grasp any ounce of sanity left in this world. The leaves rustle in an angry passion that's all too familiar. Yet the forgiving wind comes quick, giving the leaves a second chance. If only we could all have second chances; another opportunity to do things differently.
Through my blurred vision, I walk to the marble bench for two; another subset of the many imperfections surrounding me. I brush my hand across the empty seat and cringe at the unnatural vacancy in this land of beauty. Collapsing down, I begin to think:
If a tree falls, and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?
If a person is losing themselves, and no one is around to see it, are they falling apart?
I start to step into the cool water, clothes and all. I surrender. The water chillingly settles over my head and eternally washes away my guilt.
So many of you may be thinking, "I think the symbolism in this piece is clear", or "I think I got the main point the author was trying to convey". Well my dear readers,
The best part about writing is that it is up to your own interpretation.
