not very long atall. im sorry. i havent written in a loooooooooooong time. so bad. anyway, i have lost everything i did have so pleassse be patient, i need to get it back. at the moment im writing like a 6 year old :)
still.. im always coming up with idea's so nothing is certain, just like me.

enjoy.

‘Mum! Where on earth is the light switch?!’ I never coped well in the dark. My hands spread across a wall, fumbling desperately in search of something, anything, that would let me see again. Mum had gone ahead and evaporated into the darkness. After travelling 8 hours throughout the night, we all wanted to get some well-earned rest. Being together in a car for so long wasn’t taken lightly by neither of us, so finally reaching our destination was an instant relief as we explored the unknown in pitch black, wanting our beds.
‘Wait there.’ She called from somewhere deep within. I froze against the wall, waiting. I glanced towards the faint outline of a frame, squinting through the darkness to read the words ‘Home, sweet home’. Was this home? For now, I had to admit it was. The words sounded surprisingly genuine on my tongue, not odd or different, but a sickening pang of unnameable guilt settled in the pit of my stomach, which I had no answer to. This wasn’t my home, nor was it the place I’d grown to love, so why did I suddenly feel like I fit in here? It was a new planet. A new world with new people and new beings, surely I should feel out of place? My first few hours on this planet and it’s already appealing to me, how peculiar.
I scanned the room, scrutinizing every aspect in hope that I would find something –there had to be something- that would make me feel a little less at home. The room was large but predictable; Dad liked un-needed space. White walls and no character which was just how I imagined it to be, and the piercing lighting that seemed to repel me hurt my eyes. I wanted to run from this fowl room. Run back into the darkness, disregarding the fact of how uneasy it made me feel, and fall onto my bed; my old bed.
‘Honey?’ I heard my mum call. Realising the moisture building up, I blinked it back before she had chance to see. Mum came through the door, flushed and smiling like there was no tomorrow. Recovering my composure, I turned and look her way,
‘What, Mum?’ She looked at me, scrutinizing my expression
‘Honey, what’s going on?’ She reached for my arm, I pulled it away.
‘Nothing. Where’s my room?’ Her answer was distant,
‘Second floor. Third door on the left.’ I nodded and spun on my heel. By now the house was lit but this made no change. Everything that I passed held no appeal to me. It was either the fowl white colour or new, and neither were something I would’ve picked myself.

The door, my door, was different. A thick, battered oak door was all that separated me from the ghastly white of our corridor and the wonders of what would soon be my haven from all things real. I take pride in decorating my room with everything that’s me. Every move we make is a new beginning for me, and with each new place a new room is created. Each different than before in its own way. I change too, depending if I like the area. Sometimes I’ll be the outsider, other times I’ll be the one looking down on the outsider. I can be friendly and warm and accepted in some places, but others I can also be the distant new girl who everyone stares at in the lunch hall. If I’m in denial, I’ll pile on the eyeliner and keep my hood up. If I want to impress, I’ll drive to school and have my blonde locks flowing, tempting any hopeful for a prize that is not theirs to win. I can become any person I wish and pull it off without an ounce of effort. I know the ins and outs of every social circle, every type of person, and every rank that people stick so tightly to.
I flung the door open and assessed the space it held within. The room was surprisingly unique compared to previous experiences. The slanted roof seemed to enclose the space, with one exception of a beautiful skylight opening up the whole ceiling to the sky above. My piano was already positioned along with bookcases twice the size of me. My vanity, shelves and desk were also pushed up against my walls. I had a whole new blank canvas to make my own and I already had idea’s of what to do. Tonight though, all I wanted was sleep and tomorrow would leave me free to organise and find the many tubs of paint I’d collected from previous projects. I found my luggage and unpacked what little possessions I’d taken with me, finding a home for each as I went along. By the time Mum came to check on me, I was in bed and totally senseless of anything other than my breathing pattern. Until tomorrow, I won’t know who I am nor who I will be. I’m simply a girl called Grace.