THE MEN WHO CLIMBED EVEREST TWICE

I'm Writing about how I always liked color pencils better then crayons, I'm writing about how the stars looked the same today as they did in kindergarten just now I can finally point out the constellations. I'm writing about how when she died not only did her heart stop working but so did my dads,

 I'm writing about how that's unfair. I'm writing about the weather and how I appreciate the rain even more then the sun. I'm writing about daisy's not only because there the whitest flower but because they're your favorite. I'm writing about when love could only be described as what you're mother felt for you. I'm writing about how my teeth weren't straight and about how I didn't care. I'm Writing about the times I got pajamas for Christmas and how if i wanted to smell good I would just roll in the grass.  I'm writing about hell and about heaven and how even though I didn't know what either one was I believed in both, and now I'm just struggling to believe in humanity. I'm writing about the Dentist and how he was much kinder as a kid and how now he only talks if my parents come in. Im Writing about how I used to cry about everything and it slowly became unacceptable but I couldn't help it. I'm writing about my testimony and how it was supposed to get stronger but it just got weaker as I grew older. I'm writing about how lone peak is the only school where everyone knows what a testimony is. I'm writing about my note book and your notebook and even though you bought it for just 2.99, let me know when you're finished writing and i will pay you enough goldfish to feed our entire kindergarten class.

 I'm writing cause i'm bitter. I'm writing for the time I scraped my knee and my mom kissed it better and it still hurt and it was still bleeding. I'm writing for that time I scraped my heart and you tried to kiss it better and put a band aid on but it didn't work it just covered up my lungs so I stopped breathing. I'm writing on my computer because my pen ran out of ink and it has spell check. I'm writing for the girl that I stayed up all night thinking about. I'm writing for my fingers to tell them thank you and to tell them without you I would't be able to feel alive. I'm writing for all the Jane Doe's John Doe's and all the Doe's that have been shot and even though I've never actually been hunting I've shot a gun and I've killed some spiders. I'm writing for the boy that killed himself and even though I don't know what weapon he used, I still know he was braver then me.