Nostalgia.

Now Playing: Fifteen by Taylor Swift (back then I swore I was going to marry him someday, but I realized some bigger dreams of mine.)

Today was a very weird day.

At the back of the Thomas St. Building, which is the English block, there are two sets of three stairs; a little hard to explain. If you sit on them you can see the tarmac used as a carpark, now; but when I was a little year eight it was where all the year nines used to hang out. You can see the small green oval and the big tennis court I havent set foot in for at least a year. I used to sit on those steps, a lot. I remember sitting on those steps comforting someone who was, at that time, my best friend; we fell out, and now when I see her we are perfect strangers. I remember sitting on those steps with a boy I liked, and watching him turn green with jealousy as I watched another boy I liked throw his head back and laugh, surrounded by the same people who continue to surround him now. The boy next to me stole sandwiches out of my lunch box and told me gleefully that that boy would never look twice in my direction; I nodded miserably and when I went home that day I wrote a rather depressing short story which you could probably hunt down on my blog somewhere.

A lot of things have changed since year eight. A lot of things have changed since last week. I don't think about it that much; the past is not always pleasant to relive. But sometimes I go back to these places and it all comes flooding back; and suddenly I am a thirteen year old with skin issues all over again, as if these three years of self-discovery, of making new friends and losing old ones, never happened. 

You gotta love nostalgia.

Speaking of nostalgia, the first time I skinned my knee was when I was...seven. I was running to school because I was really late (people who know me will know that I haven't really changed much since I was seven). And then when I was eight I rode my bike into a tree (long story) and skinned both knees so bad they're still scarred. What can I say? I was a clumsy kid.

That being said, despite a brief stint of being an ice skater (ice skaters fall down. A lot.) I haven't actually drawn blood from a fall for a long time. And there's an odd moment of nostalgia, when you're washing sand out of a gravel crush. Mind you, when I was eight I'm pretty sure the first thing that popped into my head every time I fell over wasn't 'damn...I won't be able to shave my legs tonight...'