or when the reflection isn't ugly.
it was an understatement to say that i was not ecstatic about our trip to the state park for hiking. i had stuff to do, and had planned on writing after finishing homework.
of course, my opinion didn't matter, so we packed up and spent the second half of the day trekking for sweetwater creek.
it was okay. it wasn't hot, nor was it cold, and my legs did not ache. in fact, i was leading our group at a quick pace, and even then my muscles did not feel tired. i was really just existing dully.
however, when the creek's river-like sound made its way to my ears, something slowly started to click into place. it wasn't until we reached the ruins of the cotton mill, which the creek ran past, pouring over massive rocks.
i felt the current with my fingers, dipping them into the chill water. i caught a look of myself in the stream, and the girl there looked happier, seemed to care less about anything that had been going on.
i held her in my palm until we left because good things must stay where good things go, and really, good things hate bad things like me.
YOU ARE READING
Smart Girl
Non-Fictionthoughts from the smart girl. //the journal of wren// //highest rank #2 in non fiction// //all names of real people interacted with here are altered from their original versions for privacy's sake//
