Chapter 13: Sixteen

Oh, to be sixteen again... 
Listen to Joni Mitchell incessantly.
Fall in love with boys instantly. 
Write poetry ferociously. 

Some nights I would sit in my bedroom window, with my legs hanging down. I'd gaze at the neighbor's shower window that was always sealed yet always tempting to my teenager's eye. I'd smoke weed and worse: CIGARETTES. I'd play Radiohead and Santana and unspecific jazz tunes that kept my angry heart calm for a few tender moments. I'd wonder if I would ever be understood. I wished to be somewhere else. I hated the days when every moment was crucial. Every memory had to be made. A month in my sixteen year old's life was a lifetime of heartbreaks and wows and troubles and excitements and pain and sorrows and joy. Oh, to be sixteen again. And lose myself again. And question life again. And have my whole life in front of me... again. It is true what they say: Youth really is wasted on the young.