cedric spence || district 1 || done

I like the sound of rainstorms, their pitter-patter always brought the best of dreams. The steady thumping of drops in iron buckets reminded me of a song, a brand new staccato every night. See, our roof was leaky and the wind sneaked inside through worn out walls but without fail a blanket found its way around my shoulders. The apartment I grew up in was so, so cold but I didn't find that out until recently.

I'm told I'm always chasing clouds, but it's not like you can blame me. They look so soft in that big blue canvas and I could make the sky a thousand times prettier than whoever's doing it now. I'm tired of trying to make sense of all the nonsense shapes they've stuck up there. My uncle once told me kids who spend as much time in the sky as I do lose their noses to frostbite.

So I pretended to start crying so Mom would yell at him.

I used to be a big crybaby. Emphasis on used to be. My eyes must be leaky, like the bathroom sink. They like to well up even when I swear I don't even feel that sad. And yeah, everyone told me it's okay to cry but that's not really true is it? That's just what you tell a ten year old so he doesn't know how uncool he really is. 'Cause I've seen Dad with red, puffy eyes and he told me he was just tired.

Sometimes it's okay to lie, I think. You've got to force smiles and ignore frowns, playing pretend isn't just a game for kids. I'm not too good at it, though. My emotions break through pursed lips. It's hard when I can feel it all burning through my chest, into the tips of my toes. Good or bad, I've always been sensitive to the sensation. I wonder if that's a thing you get better at when you're older, or if I'll always get teased for the way my ears wiggle when I get frustrated.

And that's more often than not, now a days. I really think I should be better than I am. I've only ever gotten an 'A' in once class and that was photography so it doesn't even count. I've been taking photos since I was eight, when I got a disposable camera for my birthday and demanded a new one every year after. I'm pretty sure there's a box full of all the pictures I've taken stashed in the attic, even the ones that are smudged by careless fingertips.

I love it, but it shouldn't be the only thing I'm good at. We're not like the careers in fancy mansions - when I'm old enough I've got to pull my weight. Work until I'm more bone than skin, until I start coming undone. Things tend to fall apart in slow motion, so I got to see just how it happens. Every step of the way. But sometimes it's okay to lie and I think it's better if I pretend I didn't notice.

It's comforting to know what's coming. I rather like that my future is set in stone.

It's not a miserable life. In spite of all those frozen nights, mornings carried with them a hundred smiles to make up for it. I've learned kindness is the best way to earn those. Slipping notes into lunch boxes and gifts into shoes - even if I'm not good with words I've found other ways to tell my people I love them. And love is deserved, it is not earned.

If I've got to be imperfect, I also want to be happy.

"how do you feel so proud?"