Write about a time when you were dead wrong about somebody.
It was my fault to pin you as perfect - the inner circle type of girl, how immature I was to think that was how friendships turn out and connections are formed. You don't pre-determine who you sit with at recess and go to houses to chill out and bake, although we did some of that. I often wondered if I took too much space, when I thought of us side by side I thought me ungraceful and bloated, Dudley Dursley next to the swan-lake ballerina. You were a neat set-up of bento box perfection and I was but a tupperware of tumbling ingredients with every flick of my backpack. It was expectation that had made the fall the sort that scraped knees and revealed flesh, when I think of you there still lingers the dull ache seared by your cold shoulders and phone calls behind my back. 4 years ago, 16 years old, I cried and yelled into the phone so upset that I had to find out and I still considered . If I was taking too much space . If my voice was too loud, my tears too melodramatic, my calling you on your walk by the beach too intrusive - imagine, this girl's voice pounding out of the tiny audio slit trying to convey how absolutely devastated that I was wrong about you.
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