December 20

I used to feel afraid of time. I worried about losing it. I worried about regret. Not regret for what I did, but what I didn't do. What I was missing out on. I felt pressured to experience things that a sixteen-year-old should. I had some of those experiences. Enough. To be honest, I don't really even remember most the things I did when I was sixteen. Two years ago, and only fragments remain important to me.

Now, I don't feel that way. I am doing things that make me happy. I'm also doing things that make me stressed, and angry, and lonely. But those things are part of what makes me happy when I step away from it all.

Coming home, I found sticky note messages all over my bedroom. Reminders to breathe, sad words, love notes. All the things I needed to see when I woke up every morning. They will stay here, until they no longer stick, and they will fall on the floor. One day, I'll probably clear the dust off of them, and keep them in the little pocket in the back of my journal.

They'll always matter.