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/


13. //No better version of me I could pretend to be tonight//

23rd June

Today I returned myself to school like a guilt-ridden CD thieved from a dustying shelf.

I waded through the courtyards that I’ll sink back to in September and the wind whirled me with the artificial warmth of a swimming pool. Like sticky sweet wrappers sucked into the electric fan up in the science block. It churned rather than aerated our thoughts.

Some twelve-year-old with Cleopatra eyes and a melty lipstick mouth bashed out chords from the music department as I passed. The piano keys were so riddled and uncouth that they hardly scraped the tune.

//I seen carrots more orange//

And I kind of think it’s beautiful that I get to think about wind and pianos and fake tan and that this is my life and that I am living it and that I might be as drab as a grey ship on a writhing grey horizon but I’ll never get back that self-same combination of wind and piano and fake tanned girl. I’ll never again be a summer-blessed CD, or a teenager with thoughts as simple as the whimsically empty pages of a pretty pocket-book.

//I actual have//

And I kind of think it’s beautiful that I’m allowed to hear the thrash of cultures mixing in the soup-pot of my school years. Heritage traces paper kites like flight paths across the globe and they all filter here, to this little crumply school where the kids in detention become the kids in detention centres but the kids on Ramadan lace fingers with kids from the other side of the Atlantic.

//We study Russia next year, don’t we? Our History class should go.//

//You joking? 90% of our class are the wrong ethnicity//

I’ve never noticed how beautifully diverse our school is until now.

And I don’t care how the audition I’ve come for pans out anymore because I just got a flash of something bigger, like a little corner of a photo that has to be stained for years before it develops into a true pattern.

I’ll see the whole thing one day.

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