the creativity pool at dulaney high

Dear Future Self

Dear Future Self

I felt empty, like a vacuum had sucked the words from my mouth. Any trace of a syllable was gone, and I sat against the cream-colored wall in silence. Everyone else around me danced on one another, loud music becoming softer, and the beat grew numb. I could feel it, but I couldn’t hear it. A friend smiled at me; the sort of smile that holds both pity but pride as if she were glad I finally had it in me. My head felt like a weight, I couldn’t smile back – only look at her and hope my eyes would convey the message that I was done. Smoke crowded around the ceiling, above the already-crowded room. I felt their footsteps, and the deep volumes in which they spoke, but I couldn’t feel my head. That’s what shook me the most, what rattled me to my core. That I couldn’t feel, and that I couldn’t speak. Tonight was the night I was finished with this behavior, that I was finished with drinking my feelings and drinking my thoughts and dreams and everything else I attempted to forget. So, dear future self: never forget that night, never let it go. Or it’ll all happen again, and you know the rest.

Grace Hazlehurst ’19 || Lit Staff

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *