tomorrow i will be twenty. it seems strange that i could remember twenty years worth of laughter and mittens and jumping in piles of leaves and waiting in line with my mom at the grocery store and eating too much cake and watching my pets torment each other and meeting friends and meeting better friends and moving away to brown houses and watching my mother weep and watching my father give sermons and laughing and gasping and playing slave with my sister and crying and growing in and out of clothes and making my bed and clipping my toenails and the feeling on christmas day right after i realize all of the presents have been unwrapped and burning my tongue on hot chocolate because i couldn't wait long enough for it to cool down and retyping my resume and getting flowers after a concert or a play or a graduation and growing up and skipping class and being more bored than i've ever been before and doodling on the backs of my vocab tests and forgetting names and making mistakes and retyping and turning in late and apologizing and forgiving and singing and playing and going on walks on the sand and scooping up kids in bear hugs and stealing my sister's clothes and watching movies the morning after we watched them with the rest of the family and hating my parents and jumping into my parents' bed on saturday mornings and watching little house on the prairie and x-men in tandem and learning words like tandem and getting good grades and getting bad grades and realizing i'm not a republican and praying and hoping and seeing God in more ways than i thought i could and realizing the sacrifices my parents have made every day of my life and being so grateful i might hug the boy right next to me. but probably not, because i don't know him.