I haven’t written in a while and the words keep piling up inside my mind, and their essence builds up in layers that get thicker and denser with each passing day.
At the age of nineteen Rachel almost failed her college admission. She was anxious and mortified of what people would think of her, she couldn't fail at anything, so she passed, barely, and therefore didn't have to worry about opinions and commentary, and life went on, as usual.
If you should ever see me cry, I cry because the moon is high, I cry because my heart is dry, I cry because I touched the sky. I’ll cry an hour and a day for feelings that were ripped away, for words that never came my way, for things that I can’t even say.