Staring at a photograph of myself in my early teens... long blonde hair, a cross necklace. I was innocent. I was sweet. I was full of hope. Then I look at myself now. I won't step foot in a church. I chopped off my long pretty, blonde locks and colored my hair a black noir. I've made a lot of mistakes. I've smashed a few hearts. I've done everything I said I would never do. I can't help but stare at that girl, and the girl I am now and wonder how they could be the same person, pump the same blood through the same heart. I can't help but think about that girl, buried and gone. I am but only the weeds growing out of her, growing and forming into nothing but a plant to be ripped up and tossed away.
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