December.
December sixteenth.
December sixteenth, two-thousand and twelve.
Sixteen?
Sixteen.
It's a newly-minted sixteen kind of night and it's cold outside - practically winter. Paradoxically, I'm probably sitting out on a frayed chair by my pool. My breath has transformed from an abstract thing into a concrete one and it's currently spiraling out of my mouth because I am simple enough to take joy in making it do so.
Thankfully it was cloudy today. In my mind, there'd be no better way to spend a newly-minted sixteen kind of day than under a blanket of solid gray. Some people might think that angsty. I just find it calming. Because I am simple enough to take joy in making my breath do intricate things, I am also simple enough to have clouds as my best friends instead of diamonds. Puddles to scuffle through would've been a bonus, indisputably, but I will be happy if I only had clouds.
I know that I went to Barnes and Noble because that was my sole birthday request and I made it on November second. I stood with my newly-minted sixteen nose in countless books wearing a pink frilly scarf that twirls around itself and my black boots with the heels - and I came the closest to looking nice that I probably ever will. I know that I let the smell of a thousand stories permeate the constant negative thoughts that infest my subconscious at least enough to sand away the rougher edges, if only for a bit.
I really, truly hope that if it was cloudy today the clouds have dispersed by now. What sort of newly-minted sixteen night would it be without millions of stars to remind me that life is simple, just like me, and that the greatest beauty is found in things unintentional?
I think that out of everything to gain today, that'll be the most important to remember. While I inevitably sit here on the frayed chair by my pool looking up at the sky - starry or not - on my newly-minted sixteen night, I hope that I remember one thing:
Good and Beauty cannot be forced.
