Girl Half Empty

//What an odd thing a diary is: the things you omit are more important than those you put in//
- Simone de Beauvoir
/June winner of the diary competition/

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10. //I Sit before flowers hoping they will train me in the art of opening up//

19th June

Today I tumbled my keys out of my school bag and mislaid them somewhere. So I arrived home to an empty and unwelcoming house that remained empty and unwelcoming until my Dad returned from work at half past five. The windows and the doors all conspired and turned their backs on me so I stretched out on the grass and read.

The thing is that I hadn’t realised until today how long it’s been since I let my legs touch grass. Somewhere, sometime, someone taught me that fields are not grown for teenage girls to sit in. They’re for the young and the free and the uncrowded. I was taught that it was itchy and unclean and full of ants that would crawl up my T-shirt sleeves. I let myself believe that the grass held nothing of charm and nothing of value. I let myself believe that there were better places to sit.

Today I discovered that grass is not full of ants but of childhood. I let it score lines on the backs of my legs and I remembered how nowhere used to feel more like home than the strip of garden I waltzed across. I remembered how I’d once belonged to the grass, just like grass-stains belonged to my shorts and how I love the colour green when it’s just beginning to turn gold.

Like the colour of the paint on our kitchen wall.


The kitchen wall that I painted back when summer felt big and paint cans felt beautiful.

I remembered that there is something delectable about brittle stems creeping over your knee bones and the decadence of orchestral wind and cars and bumblebees bore me through to my dad’s shoes on the doorstep.

Now I’ve got insect bites on the backs of my thighs.

But at least I've got smiles bitten into my lips.
 

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