Guest Post by Kyleen Salais, junior at Franklin High School.
El Paso has and always will be the hometown that's shaped me to passionately follow my artistic passions of expression. Writing is the outlet that guides me back when I am lost in life, as does it maneuver my passions to keep going strong. I firmly believe that through grit and passion life can be a beautiful poetic story.
Recently papers have been sticking to my fingers as if I've glued my attachment to memories. So much evidence has drifted to my dirtied hands that I have good memories to cherish, but they keep slipping away. I can't remember anything.
It's as if I'm opening my eyes for the first time in this aged body, and the clock never stopped once for my racing mind.
A caressing action from a stranger but was a sincere dear friend, I
A smile shared from my visiting sister though I can't seem to
Why won't I remember
The walls remained white and hollow and comfy like the white clouds I find myself looking at as more people visit me. Somehow, I felt out of place, like a prison that holds me but was hugging me.
I've found a haven in my confused state as the apparent love outshines everything else opposing it. The encouragement from every miniature response I take to their constant actions helps ease me to this new life that humbles me. Without realizing, the lost memories that have gone missing begin to be replaced with new ones, as I follow my sticky hands to new beginnings.