Nostalgia.

I dearly miss so many things in this world.
So many days I wish I could return to; so many events I wish I could re-create.
But it seems as if nothing really compares, nothing adds up.
I once heard that memory was man's greatest gift.
I question this theory every day of my life.
What if certain memories are meant to be forgotten?

My gift is my burden. My gift is my curse.
My gift is not really a gift at all.

I miss going to school to see my friends, not going to school to be in an eternal competition of who is better. Who is more worthy. A competition where I was branded 2nd place long before the race had even started. School has morphed into a horror story. Where the halls are like hell, trying to dodge bullets and pass by unnoticed, trying to make it out alive. Good grades are no longer awarding and fulfilling..they are asshole messengers. Good grades remind me of how I must maintain them, and I don't get a pat on the back. Why, that is just uncalled for. I get a dumbfounded stare, a questioning sigh. They think I can't hear them whisper "How did SHE of all people get a better grade than me?" Frankly, I'm sick of it. I don't work my ass to the bone just to be chastised and doubted.

I miss playing the game because it was fun. Adrenaline is the best kind of high. Your heart is beating in your throat, sweat is dripping in buckets. You go for the final dive, and even the devil himself shakes in his throne as your exhausted body hits the ground with a roar. You look up to the scoreboard, you look up to your fate.
This isn't how it works now though. Not at all. We don't play, we fight. Fight for court-time. Fight for attention. FIght for the title of "the best". Fight for college scholarships. Fight for glory.
If I wanted to fight this hard, I would've signed up for boxing.

My fingers are just barely grazing my dreams.
But Im not tall enough.
Not smart enough.
Not quick enough.
Not creative enough.
Not knowledgeable enough.
Not talented enough.
NOT ENOUGH.

I miss waking up happy.
I miss trusting everyone I knew.
I miss never getting caught.
I miss not caring what others thought.
I miss knowing who the fuck I was, and what I stood for.


I hate nostalgia.
Nostalgia hates me.