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My little turtle keychain
At the end of my school day, when my eyes are heavy and my feet are dragging, I reach around for my keychain through the depths of my backpack in hopes of finding comfort. In the bottom pocket, full of crumbs and pencil led, I know I'll always have my tiny wooden turtle hanging on my keychain to graze my thumb over and feel the carved shell to remind me to take a deep breath. My sweet boyfriend brought me this little turtle from the countryside of Rome, where the warm ocean breeze and historical majesty have always called my name, echoing in the back of my head whenever I long for change. When I feel this turtle, I'm reminded of the kindness expressed in his bright blue eyes as he proudly handed it to me, and the joy I felt after seeing him for the first time after his trip, making my heart flutter and my stomach drop. I'm reminded of my yellow sundress, a wicker basket, a checkered blanket under a willow tree, and the laughs we shared while staring at the blue sky and inviting clouds. I'm reminded of the truth and innocence behind young love, the ability to heal our inner child together while we find the sticks with a fork shape to make a fairy house; Completed with soft moss and minuscule wild violets on the roof. The light-hearted expressions of thankfulness in conversations while strolling around a drafty art exhibit, and the endless day trips to further our individual growth, while it feeds our relationship progress.
I will never overlook these memories, and the amount of comfort this small wooden turtle brings me reminds me to try harder every day. Upon waking up each ruthlessly cold Michigan morning, the dreadful, sinking, aching feeling overtakes my every breath, depriving me of motivation. However, moving past the groggy first few seconds, stretching and blinking, I'm well resumed with hope by turning to my right and finding all of my important belongings: my phone, wallet, keys, etc. all lying on my humbly old nightstand. These everyday items may not make a strong emotional impact on many, but these items hold my memories, my incentive, and my drive, literally. Each morning my gaze rests on this small keychain figure and reminds me I'm safe and I'm loved as my blank, somewhat nervous stare comes into focus. Mornings are hard for a person with no reason to get up, and for me, knowing I will not see my greatest inspiration, my muse, and my love, for not another month, I fall into despair. Many days, this wooden turtle is not enough encouragement to ease my crawling skin, I am an impatient woman, taught the world is in my hand, served to me on a golden platter.
With patience, however, is security. I’ve come to settle into practice and routine; The early mornings anxiously awaiting a floppy-haired boy's arrival after two and a half hours of driving through endless Ohio farmland. This anxiety, of working on my appearance non-stop each Saturday morning, may seem stressful, but in it, I find peace, and more specifically, control. I observe, often, that the more time and energy I put into myself, the easier it is to express it in a relationship. I know it’s vain, as he’ll always see me the same, but it provides security to know I look beautiful anyways, after all, there’s no harm in self-affirmation. Being loved provides security, knowing that there are no empty words, no change of perception, only authenticity; And in this authenticity, now, my foundations allow themselves to crumble under the weight of expectation and ultimate comfortability of the current situation.
My biggest enemy, motivation, strikes me down when I cannot seek out this consolation. However, my search is over after he voices a raspy, gentle morning reminder to take a deep breath. I do not rely upon or search for this emotional relief that comes from a mere man, but I do allow it to become just one of the reasons I choose to get up. I choose to love him, just as I choose to love myself, and it provides me a barrier from the real world. I’ve drifted away into my deep, endless, and colorful imagination to live yet again in the memories I grasp to so firmly when physically, my comfort, a hug or a kiss, is out of reach. Bare feet on the hot grass of the city’s botanical garden as the sun melts away my stress like warm summer rain. I’m surrounded by safety; The assurance that the hand in mine will never be truly out of reach, and the overwhelming joy of being appreciated. The breeze brushes through our hair and ushers our arms closer as we stroll, the encouragement of togetherness, the beauty of time. The sound of running water, ducklings, and bullfrogs engage me in a tranquil embrace, one I will not soon let go of. On the hard days, the days I hang by a spider’s thread, I look to the remembrance of these green smells, and the soft thumb rubbing against my palm as I struggle to speak of hardship.
On challenging days, I find myself studying the memories I cherish, stored in the cloud. I love to memorize every detail of his face until this smile stretches so wide my face aches with cheerfulness. The faint lines around his lips and eyes from spending his eternity laughing, the dark, long eyelashes, and the cherry color of his lips. The curls arching over his thin eyebrows, and even the fold under his lip before his chin starts intrigues me and fills me with warmth and love. However, for all of my time, my favorite part remains the kind, cool blue eyes that stare down at me with contentment, speaking louder than words ever could.
I’ll never know, nor be able to express complete thankfulness to my Griffin for all he’s shown me and given me, like the keychain, and I’ve found the truth is that individually, I’ve never felt quite so content. Expressing gratitude for all the reminders, down to the little wooden turtle keychain, convinces me to yearn for stability, and with this comes stability in solitude. To be able to close my eyes, and picture a future where I’m just as safe, where my clothes are organized by color in a walk-in closet, and where my fridge is fully stocked. These are the things I picture now, upon the discovery of stability granted by love. The personal unearthing I’ve accomplished has benefitted my personality extensively, providing me a therapeutic path to transform back into my kind, honest, and empathetic self.
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My name is Anna, I'm 17, and like any other teenager, I question my emotions often. I've found writing to be a perfect outlet and thanks to my wonderful junior year English teacher, Mrs. Heartz, I've developed a love for writing, and how it's helped my personal growth.