Now Playing: Never Grow Up by Taylor Swift (at fourteen there's just so much you can't do and you can't wait to move out someday and call your own shots)
Dearest Fourteen,
This is the year when English gets amazing. Year 10 English is the most amazing year academically for you, dearest Fourteen, and you soak in every minute of it. You've never learnt so much or worked so hard. Your teacher is absolutely amazing and you've got your mojo back, as he would say.
Other than that, school is retarded. P.E. is a nightmare, trying to keep up with big fast year 10s, you barely pass biology and being murdered over the phone by your maths teacher is no fun. But you hang in there, dearest Fourteen, because you're much wiser than you were a year ago. You see the light at the end of the tunnel. Year eleven. That's all you want. Once you get there, you'll be okay.
But there's a little hole in you, dearest Fourteen. I know you think you're tough and grown up but looking back all I can think of is how small you were, how innocent you were, how young and fragile and hurt you were. Every now and then you'll lose focus and slip back into the what and why and think what you could have done to fix things, to make someone you wanted want you back, to not be as low as you are now. And then you're even angrier that you're dwelling on that, on something little that hurt you so much, because you want so badly to be stronger than that. You swear you'll replace him but you know deep down that that will never happen fast enough. And even though every day that you're alone humiliates you, I'm glad. You're too young for all of that, dearest Fourteen. I'm still a little ingenue, dearest Fourteen, but I've seen things and done things that would make your head spin. Last year left you broken - angry, confused, hurt, humiliated. You got all the break up without any of the relationship and you feel totally cheated. But the thing that hurts you the most is that you know everyone is laughing at you - it was such a poorly made trap and you still fell headfirst into it. You cut yourself off, from all the people who hurt you. Your pride is hurting, dearest Fourteen, but you learnt some important lessons. You're not a princess, and this ain't a fairytale. The only person you can trust is yourself.
So this is the only year when I can genuinely say you have no friends. It's lonely, dearest Fourteen, but you don't mind. I miss that. Now I'm older and slightly more fucked up I am so desperately craving solitude but crying out for company all at once and it's confusing everyone. Especially me. All I can think of about you is a little girl jumping into everything too fast too soon, but I know I'm not giving you enough credit. It's the decisions I made when I was young and innocent and forever making mistakes that have gotten me to where I am now. So even though it feels like you're wasting your tears on boys who will never deserve you and sweating over work that will never mean nothing, it's all worth it, in the end. I just wanted to tell you that, dearest Fourteen. It was all worth it.
Love,
Nearly Seventeen
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