I am writing this peice for my writitng workshop class.
It's about my family vacactions in maine.
Or atleast, what I wanted them to be.
I left out the part about my parents divorce. And about how my sister hated me, and how my father and I couldnt get along.
And how I was so depressed that one summer, the feeling still haunts me late at night.
I left out the reason I stayed up on the beach that one night.
I didnt mention how I feel about the stars, and why it all started there, and ended there.
I disreguarded my mom completely. And how confusion and emptiness are overlayed with false excitement in each of my memories with her.
I am writing it the way I wish it would have happened.
My memoir has turned into a fantasy.
Where's the truth in that?
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