Scared of My Own Shadow

Someone shot me with an arrow, but I don't know where or how. Was it a friend? Was it just me being careless? I try to hide the bloodstains because I can't stand it when people ask if I'm alright. I'm supposed to take care of you, not the other way around.

I'm not sure if there's a magical cure. At times, I'm not even sure that there's anything wrong. 

When I was small, I never wondered if there was anything wrong with me. I wasn't a harsh word or a clenched fist. I wasn't the animal growling at the back of a throat. What happened to me? Was it me hiding in the closet that set me off? Or was it those nights that I looked at the city, longing to run away?

Maybe it was time that made me angry. Y'know, the kind where the leaves turn crispy, collecting in piles, and you forget what the freedom of summer tasted like. Time can wear a person out, like a fraying friendship bracelet. I have one of those. I heard that if you wear a friendship bracelet so much that it breaks and falls limply off your wrist, you get to make a wish. I hope that rule applies to people too, because boy am I close.