My Father's grey truck blended into the landscape as it crawled over the San Sebastian bridge.
The traffic had transformed a fifteen minute errand into a half hour excursion.
I was buckled into the passenger seat, a bruise weaving pain into my shin.
I was in the middle of middle school.
A soon to be teenager, high on my own idealism.
The weather, the traffic, nor the injury deterred my optimism.
"If this was the present," I thought to myself "my future HAD to be better."
The radio stumbled onto "Eleanor Rigby" and I was catapulted into Beatlemania.
A love for the Beatle's Music initiated me into a love for self-expression and a love for myself.
I read voraciously,
and diligently practiced
music and drama.
I could not hit the right note,
in music, acting or writing.
An infestation of self-loathing
rotted away any talent.
I became possessed by insecurities,
and slaughtered my beloved ideas, dreams and optimism.