You used to be everywhere. In the sound of the traffic on the One, in the beaming fluorescent lights, in mucus coating my throat, in the dog’s yellowing teeth, and in my torn-up bloody scabs that were always on my knees. Now, I see you in untouched corners and under small trinkets on my shelf. Only amidst the dust that was meant to be swept up years ago, but was somehow neglected. Sometimes you still fill my lungs, coating them in a chemical I learnt at a young age to try to hide. I’ll allow it to fade to a quietness, and the no-teeth smiles will become second nature. Memory will deceive me and I might not remember all of thirteen, an age I assumed I wouldn’t get to see. Nine will become a lucid dream. I’ll grow up, I’ll practice, I’ll teach, I’ll get undressed, I’ll make my bed, I’ll find a job, and I’ll meet new people. Maybe I’ll even learn to forget. But just forgetting doesn’t mean that the dust is swept away. I’m still breathing it in every day.
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Riley Grace (she/her) is a fourteen-year-old who aspires to be a writer and filmmaker. She is captivated by the emotion and tenderness that writers and artists of all kinds can convey through their work. grace dreams of becoming a director and author who creates work that people find comfort in and can connect to.