Dreams

It's raining outside,
And I'm just enjoying the sound of raindrops and thunder amidst a storm, swirling about like a chaotic rainbow sundae.

I've been really exhausted lately;
It doesn't help that stress keeps me up and noise makes everything worse,
Since I'm such a light sleeper that someone opening the door makes me snap awake.

I've been rather sensitive to people's shouting
And the constant renovation works that haunts the entire country.

Still, here's a beautiful song to keep you and I happy 😊
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=gN24W_psMpE

.

Although I've probably only got one chance at prom (unlike other schools and countries, we've only got one to look forward to)

It's not happening

Simply because I've got no one special- friends or otherwise- to make it a special, once-in-a-lifetime thing.
People make up the places,
And I'm not exaggerating when I say that they are what makes up special events, too.

I may be self-reliant when it comes to having my own fun and relaxation,
But ultimately you gotta have friends for prom in order for it to become a fond memory,
And I just don't have that.

I wouldn't want to be like a pest or leech either, so that's that.

I'm lending you a dress of mine, but I'm staying home
-Somehow,
It sounds a little pathetic huh.

The doe-eyed twelve-year-old-me from back then wouldn't have foreseen this;
I think she'd looked at the boxy structure of this school and thought that she liked the atmosphere, the simplicity, and got excited fantasising about sleepovers, climbing over school gates, black nail polish and inside jokes.
I think, she might have thought about wearing a gown of some sort,
Cliched as it is-
Walk down a certain stairs
And have someone special waiting at the end of it, palms open and inviting,
Her own sweaty and cold,
Sheer fabric trailing behind her.

Then, there'd be pictures, frozen memories
And she'd dance and talk with friends she'd cry over,
Because she'd miss them.

She'd talk about studying overseas, she'd hug and pat those who're looking to take flight and blossom. She'd have her own plane waiting for her, she'd be plagued with uncertainties that gradually transform into excitement.


She, now eighteen-
Is instead writing in third person about what it should, or could be,
And yet is.

It's alright,
No prom

But she has the rain and lightning to keep her company
In her little room with the Christmas lights and the
Lavender bed sheets.