To the unknown

Dear Unknown,

There are two things I am absolutely positive about right now. Number one: I do not know you. Number two: I do not know myself. Unknown, your name is beautiful- it's like rose-golden sunshine over a misty grey lake. You always know someone strait away from their name. My name is Michaella. But what does that name say? It says nothing. Maybe I don't even know what I am saying.. the words might just be coming my fingers.. and electric pulse exploding onto the keyboard. But unknown, I'm almost sure I can trust you right now. And who else is there anyways?

People often judge me because I like to be poetic, because some days I decide to wear heaps of ash-black eyeliner to school. Because sometimes I don't even bother showing up. People look at me with poison eyes and angry hearts because sometimes I answer the wrong question in history class, or because I laugh hysterically in a drama monologue because I feel so insecure- so rotten. Sometimes I like to imagine there is something wrong with me.. so that I can cry. I love to cry. It's that feeling in your heart and stomach and head where you can push out all the pain, all the love.. all the hurt. It's like when all that angry rain bursts out of the sky, and floods the earth below, saving it from drought.

I once had a best friend. Her name was Cindy. We used to call her Cinderella, because she was the perfect princess. But one day, she just walked away, and I never understood why people walked from me. But I've realised, I was different from the other children. They all wore candyfloss coloured dresses and had a buttercup and honey sounding giggle when they smiled. But I liked to wear scarlet. I liked to sit under the tree's and listen to the birds, and wonder around parks aimlessly. Sometimes I would say things, and my parents would turn their heads away, and pretend they didn't hear it.

When I was 10, I looked up at my mother with teary green eyes. I told her that if you looked close enough into someones mind, you could see all the colours and emotions going through them, and that her mind was violet, black and grey. And that she was feeling alone, and afraid, and disgusted, and disappointed. In me.. My mother walked away without a word. Sometimes I think it might be my fault that she left me with Granny. But it doesn't matter anymore. Unknown, sometimes I wonder if what I remember actually happened. Perhaps my mind is a blurred mixture of star anise and ash and cinnamon. Perhaps my childhood didn't even happen. Perhaps, while I am sitting in Science class writing this, you are at home, drinking tea with honey, living a life as beautiful as your name.














Unknown, everything happens for a reason. Maybe I was just meant to be this way.

Love,
Michaella