13, they say, is unlucky.
I say it's not. Though this year has been different, it has not been inordinately difficult, and certainly not been unlucky.
My vocabulary has expanded to include both more complex and more (*cough*) colorful words.
I've started a blog.
And started writing really crappy poetry. Luckily my friends tell me its good.
And learned more about the social structure. And learned to see through the virtually opaque lies that lurk within it. And I've done my best to destroy the clever (or not clever) ploys for attention.
Not unlucky. Enlightening.
I've learned of secrets and lies. I've learned of promises broken, and been on both ends of the parasite that is gossip, as well as viewing it from the side. I've seen the damage it can do.
Things that have never occured to me started to. And fantasies drifted off in favor of a harsh reality.
Not unlucky. Bizarre.
The dances we hold so dearly to our hearts turned from games to hormone-fueled horror movies (eww... that was an unfortunate bit of alliteration), full of regrets and rumors.