I think I found my soul. Just in case you were wondering.

The worst edit that I ever received on the multiple, varied drafts for this writing project was when Brad wrote across the back of my paper, “Your story has no soul.”

As you can imagine, more vividly so if you know me or Brad personally, I was completely taken aback, and at the same time determined to prove him wrong. I’ve never cussed at a professor before, but if I had the backbone to, I would have after I received that edit.

Now, except for a few tweaks here and there copy wise, my story is done. Brad still has yet to read it. I don’t know if my story is the kind that Brad can connect to. I told one of the other writers in our class that I didn’t think he’d be able to because in my mind, Brad’s never been innocent, at least not in the same ways I talk about in my story as a fifteen-year-old girl. But even if he doesn’t, I’m okay with it. I am so incredibly proud of my piece.

As a writing group, the six of us have poured our tears and sweat into our stories. They may not be exactly the way we had imagined them at the beginning of the semester, but I know that each one of us is both relieved and sad to reach the end.

I’ve never been good at goodbyes. We still technically have a week until our “finals” and the real end of the semester. Surprisingly I haven’t cried during class, despite the gravity of all of our stories. But if ever there was a day for me to break down, it will probably be our last day.

But our stories will never really end. We’ll all continue to live our lives; we’ll all continue to write. As one journey comes to an end, another one begins. But now the journeys don’t seem quite as treacherous.

However, before I begin my next journey, I’m going to take time to relish in the memory and the ending of this one. It’s perfectly suitable that this week happens to be one of the first clear, warm weeks of the year. Now, I’m going to go and sit in the sun, because it’s those small moments of sunshine that make a dark, winding journey bearable.

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