This is all Hypothetical, of Course

I love those moments when you're flying high, and you're just so happy to be alive and your smile lights up your face. You don't care about anything then, because you're so thrilled inside that anything goes.

But then there are those days when you're stuck at your little sister's birthday parties, and the two hours are the worst because there are like ten five and six-year-olds running around and you're in charge because your parents ditched you and your other siblings ditched you. All except the little sister whose party it was, and the baby brother who is, well, a baby brother and therefore just makes things worse.

And you're trying to explain the game Simon Says to the little kids and trying to stop them from being so loud and to please everyone so they don't whine or cry. And you're just tired and sick of it but you have to do this. And you're looking at the little kids and thinking you know exactly what they're gonna be when they grow up.

There are the loud ones, the ones who always take control, and there are those quiet ones who just go with the flow. There are the ones who will bully, and those who will be bullied. There are the ones who cheat at something as innocent as pin-the-flower-in-the-princess's-hair. Actually there were a lot of those, and you can tell. But there were some whose blindfold was a blindfold and who got candy anyway because you refuse to let the people who don't deserve to win win.

And you're worn out and the entire day you're just flopping around finishing homework and knowing you look terrible as always, and texting people who don't text back and wondering why, when you almost always reply and quickly. 

And then your friend actually does text you to tell you that she's training to be a cheerleader, and you're congratulating her and telling her that she'll make it, because she will, because she's going to be gorgeous and forget you.

So you stalk people on Facebook like any normal teenager and you keep finding more beautiful people with their freckles perfectly shading the tip of their nose, and their face clear, every hair in place, every feature attractive. You're wondering why cheerleader personalities are called cheerleaders, but then you realize that they cheer up guys. And ya know, the people like you don't matter since it's not like they're cool enough to say. After all, you and those like you?

They're not perfect. They're not beautiful. They're not short, they're not awkward, they're not afraid to be themselves. They're not rejected, they're not hurt, they're not whispered about behind their backs, and they're not ... me.

This is all hypothetical, of course.

I prefer better days.