when i wasn't amazing

so i've been playing cello since 7th grade. and i can't even play through st. paul's suite.
so i can write poetry, once in a blue moon and only in mediocrity.
so i can work adobe programs, but art is a world for artists, and i have no creativity.
so i can do math, but can't survive in a class i've already taken.

so i got into swarthmore, but i have nothing to contribute.

i don't have passion, i don't have opinion, i don't have strength, i don't have talent.

i'm afraid to go. everyone is going to have something. everyone is going to have that one word they can be filed under in that old man's card catalog in New York. Leland: music. Maeve: art. James:

i'm not really part of your intelligencia, mikey. i'm sorry. i'm not. maybe i stuck out because our school is fool of california fools. and i was of the less foolish.

i can't write anymore.