Tell me of the time where you climbed out of your window, snuck by the kitchen window where your father was, and went downtown to the park, to meet your girlfriend and sit hand in hand, watching the swans sleepily move along the creek.
Tell me of the time, where you tried to drink wine with your high school friends, but you drank it too quickly – to show off – and then got sick in the neighbour’s rose bush.
Tell me of the time, where you dared your little cousin to jump off the roof into the snowbank, and while they were taking him to the hospital with a broken leg, you insisted that you tried to stop him.
Tell me of the love that you lost.
Tell me of the time where you became yourself, when you got loud and boisterous, when things stopped scaring you, when you realised that no one truly knows what they are doing, all the time.
Tell me of the time where you decided your future, where you stood at the crossroads and decided that Robert Frost was right after all and you took the road less travelled by.
Tell me of your regrets.
Tell me of the time where you ignored someone because you didn’t feel like talking, only to need them later, after they had walked out of your life.
Tell me of the time where you felt so much pain that you believed that you would never be happy again, that the world was dark and sadness and pain, that the sun would never shine, that the Dementors had come to take your happiness.
Tell me of the time where you dreamed.
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