Purple Socks

It’s funny how when my life seems to be shattering I remember the dumbest things. The putrid smell of Urine and orange juice; the blaring sound of Mr. Brightside; the comforting taste my mom’s chicken noodle soup; waking up and putting on purple socks; and the slap of my bare hands against hard ice. But that’s what heartbreak is for me. It’s real. It has substance. It’s more than just a feeling. It’s an experience. The experience may have been hard and painful, but I came out of it stronger. I was able to move on to a new better experience, with new memories. I became a better person. I’m no longer a lonely, naïve ten year old. I’m not a self centered, unsure fifteen year old. The confused, insecure seventeen year old is gone too. I’m a strong, independent, eighteen and a half year old girl who knows her purpose, but it’s because of heartbreak that I am that person. It’s because of African children and dumb boys. It’s because of terrible illnesses and loneliness. And it’s because of things like chicken noodle soup and purple socks.

Feeling Chatty?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s