Trash Bag

I never had the need to take a picture. I never liked them, just made myself criticize my looks. I always said “I’ll have the memories right here.” and I would point to my head. I constantly thought that if I can’t remember the memory, then it wasn’t worth remembering. Everytime I look at an old picture of myself, it doesn’t make me as happy as I suppose to feel. “I am getting older or gosh my hair was really bad back then” I would think. Nothing grabbed at me to want to remember that day.
After months of letting the clutter pile up on my bookshelf I finally decided it was time to clean it out. Trash bag after trash bag full of worthless paper that was know use to me and time spent sorting through what was worth to keep and what wasn’t, I
Just a tiny little school smack in the middle of The Fan in Richmond. I always hated that school, being forced to being friends with twenty girls that I now know I definitely didn’t like. Furthermore how manipulative preteen girls can be. I believe this photo was taken near the end of my 5th grade year. I was the first person to get there picture taken because it was in alphabetic order and I was always first. I just imagine the frown on my face about to get it taken. The child in the picture is so much different but still so much alike than the girl who writes this story. It feels like I am looking at a reflection and a shadow at the same time. The child who would hide hundreds of candy wrappers under her bed and the teenage girl who would sneak in dozen doughnuts from the car so her parents wouldn’t see. Or the child who loved The Pretty Reckless and Evanescence and the teenage girl who’s ears would bleed if she heard one line from their songs. If I could talk to my younger self, I would tell her the spanish answers to that really hard quiz and that life is not ending the second you are in distress. That life goes on and you will get over your