Hello, 19

  It's time.
  She creeps down to the cellar, her bare feet pitter pattering on the worn wood. The dust scurries away as she sweeps into the room, her eyes searching, her heart pulled like a puppet on a string. She knows what and why and how. Now she must squelch the "when?" with a knowing glance, and now she must do what she alone can do and what she knows needs to be done.
  It's there, on the third shelf, hiding behind some christmas ornaments and home videos and a broken lampshade; and she can sense it.
  As she stretches up, her small hands catching the box and bringing it back down close to her heart, she sighs a whole-hearted sigh. She carefully clutches the cardboard box for all she's worth, for it holds the memories of a year.
  Her year.
  Her 18th year, to be precisely exact.
  In it lie the good: the books that wrenched out her soul and replaced it, adjusting her view of life. The stolen kisses that signaled goodnight and goodbye and I miss you and want you. The family and friends, old and new, who encouraged her and stuck by her and who she couldn't live without. Running out her heart, writing out her wishes, graduations, and celebrations, salutations of those she adored.
  In it lie the bad: the nights where she didn't know what would happen and she painted her pillow with mascara and tears. The harsh words of critics and, even worse, the knife-stabbing comments of so-called friends. The days where she felt swallowed up and spit out, and the days where she just couldn't go on. The battles of frustration, the depressed dreary days, and the goodbyes of dear, dear friends.
  She revisits and remembers and regrets but a few.
  For each made her stronger, made her heart a little bigger, made her smile a little brighter. Made her even more of herself.
  A smile slowly dances up the sides of her mouth and breaks out into a full grin as she covers up the box and replaces it on the shelf. For it's time to begin an even better year.
  Hello, 19.