A while has transpired between then and now.
This is what adult life is, right? A pigeonhole existence, and nomadic presence.
Before you go on to tell me exactly why and how important it is, just hear me out.
I never understood why boats have to made of paper, and that's the important question.
When I look at the photos in the yearbooks I only see a shadow of a girl, smiling a broken smile.
How many more bubbles will we burst?
Being an adult is overrated.
I might not be the daughter of the year, but I still do love my Mum very much.
As much as I like to believe that my mind is a clean slate, it's filled with memories if not thoughts.