Descriptive Essay - Original Writing

Descriptive Essay - Original Writing

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It was a windy day in the fall, a Saturday to be exact, and the trees were bare and the ground was cold. There was a midnight frost that had melted away as the sunshine left the grass with the familiar dewey residue that would make the lower half of one’s canvas-dyed converse damp and slightly moist, but not enough to bother the sock. I trudged through this natural slop and wound my key lanyard nervously around my fingers, contemplating the idea of just throwing my home key into the thin strip of woods between my house and the next, knowing it would be hard to find them once I did. When I was about three meters from my door, I stopped. I did not want to talk to my family, nor did I want to step foot inside that house. I had already checked the garage, and I knew that my parents were home, and if they were not expecting my return I had enough time to run back into my car and flee the scene, which would buy me even more time, but would only push away the inevitable. I felt myself begin to tear up, thinking it would be the first of many bouts I would endure this night. My neighbor exited his house, leash in hand, dog on leash, and both him and the dog were adorned with rain boots, despite the fact that it was not raining, nor was it too wet, save for the grass. I did not question him; instead I gave an idle wave, but he did not see me. I stood for a moment in silence, working up the courage to take a step toward my house but also going through every possible scenario in my head. A crow cawed, centering my concentration back to the task at hand: walking inside. With a deep breath and a sort of resigned defeat, I willed my body forward. I managed to make it to the door, but my hands were shaking so much that I fumbled and dropped my ke...


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...ld rush to my arms and embrace me with reassuring phrases such as “we will always love you” or “no matter what you are my daughter and nothing will change that”, etc, but luck is something I seem to be in short supply of these days. I never had a good relationship with my parents and was in the process of trying to repair it when I came out to them. I do not think our relationship was strong enough to carry this sort of confession, and ultimately think my parents would have been able to handle it had we been closer. I no longer hate them for the way they reacted, and still react, because I could have been kicked out of my home, disowned by them, and cut off completely from my family. I have learned to be thankful that they are trying to come to terms for it instead of shutting me out completely. Things could have gone better, but I think with time it will not matter.

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