What to say about this one…I was in love at seventeen. No, really. I was. It was such a long time ago I’m not sure how it even happened. One second I was fine and the next my life was all about breezy summer evenings and clear night skies. It was about poems on stars and how much I loved her. And I did, too. It was a little scary how that changed me. Even at school, thoughts of her made that little slice of hell feel like paradise sometimes. We only ever met twice, but to me we were always together. It feels like forever ago. I’m twenty-one now and I no longer write of stars. I write of demons now; of hate and war and suicide. On starry nights I think of her and seventeen, a truly pleasant memory.