Creative Voices

By Mariel Gousios / Matthew Staff | Edited by Amanda Contessa

I spent months waiting for life to finally start.

For the picturesque dreams to wish themselves into reality, tired of the ashen skies and traffic in my pocket of the city. I used to look grimacingly up at the heavy clouds, yearning for the sun. The polluted lake that traces the curves of the land like a skin-tight dress. A warning sign was placed outside, urging us not to swim, but we defyingly did.

My friend’s street was lined with beer bottles and Wendy’s wrappers, accompanied by gunshot melodies. I’d close my eyes and hope for a better life, but I’ve always been a romantic for the unattainable.

Now I’m the farthest I’ve ever been from home. My 15-minute walk to class crosses by the green river, littered with dead fish and dead bodies. I look back, longingly, at the 30-minute drive to school, the long bumper to bumper traffic in the late nights, and; the car headlights like swarms of fish as they pass over the only hill in the entire city. I miss the mysterious abandoned buildings, their deep roots growing into the ground, and the double decker houses big enough to fit two families.

Life is always better looking back, and now my cheeks are burnt.