ramble / scribble

& it's summer & you're a teenager & it's supposed to be filled with fireworks & you're supposed to be driving along the freeway with all your friends & with the blurry city lights getting closer & closer & you're supposed to be kissing that boy in the backseat of your parent's toyota & be gripping the steering wheel with sweaty palms, but instead you're sitting in your cold room looking at the posters you hung on your walls of bands you're not even sure you even like, with your glow in the dark stars twinkling on the ceiling, with a sort of emptiness that's been around since the last winter & wasn't thawed by springtime & you remind yourself that next year will be different, that you'll live the life you've been imagining, but then you remember that you've been reminding yourself this for 17 years and the only thing that's really changed is your height & you realize that "tomorrow" is yesterday & that this is your life.