As he stands there,
brimming with grief,
brimming with life,
the woman lies there in silence.
The woman dies for him.
We watch it happen.
We read about it happening.
We come to know it well.
[Caption: gifs from Supernatural. Jo, trapped in a tight cell where she can’t even stand up by the ghost of H. H. Holmes and looking through a slit, calls out, seeing she’s in a sewer system. Another woman’s voice replies from another cell asking if anybody’s there. Jo asks if her name is Theresa, the missing girl she was looking for. Theresa answers yes, and Jo tells her “This won’t make you feel better, but I’m here to rescue you.”]
Happy birthday to me. Twenty-one years old, and it just feels appropriate that I'm back at this journal. A place I so seldom come, but it's been here for me for thirteen years now, seen me through my father's death and fights with my mom and first crushes and all kinds of growth and excitement and disappointment and hurt.
I've never been a "normal" kid, whatever that means, and if I'm sure of one thing it's that I won't be a normal adult. Which is just fine with me, because I love my life, I love my giant Roadhouse family. I have a purpose and I know what it is. But I'm tired of waiting. I should be allowed to go off on my own. I'm old enough to be careful now.