Memories keep dancing inside her head. Like slides of an old film on a projector. She blames it on the season; Autumn… Cold, soggy, and gloomy old autumn. At least winter didn’t pretend to be grand with deceitfully beautiful vibrant colors. No, winter admits to representing death and she would prefer death to dying. Inhaling the smoke she remissness about previous autumns.Tangoing with all the reasons why she hates the season; reasons why she shouldn’t even bother but still questioned herself. Why didn’t she eliminate what made her feel insignificant?! Dwelling on exactly what it was that caused her to ignore her instincts. Switching cd’s and music genre, she smiled noticing her music taste usually changed with the seasons. Not major different genre with one base style. “With the lights out it’s less dangerous” . Hearing the voice of Kurt Cobain opened up a possibility. Her home life in high school was more like a prison cell. It was only natural that she felt the need to find a voice. She found Kurt Cobain & Nirvana to become her voice. Then that boy. Though she hated him she had taken a single photo of him because with his long hair he looked like Kurt Cobain on the last day of her junior year. She never intended on having sex with him, yet along talking to him. It was always his idea. He used her and as cliche as it sounds abused her. Her brother’s words played in her head drowning out her music; “Your so stupid he only calls you when it’s time to get high or wants to have sex. Your his whore…” the last phrase kept screaming at her… “his whore”. What makes it worse just the night before he called her to hang out and ended up pressuring her to have sex. For the first time in the 3 years they had been sleeping together she opened her eyes only to peer into hallow and soulless eyes. She left that night. And never looked back. To say that she didn’t want to run back would be a lie. Cracking the menthol ball inside the filter of her cigarette and searching for her lighter she forced herself to push away these memories with a positive memory. The negative memories out number the positive memories but the positive memories out weigh the negative ones. It was in autumn that wrote her heart out on paper and mailed it to him in jail. It was autumn when she realized… that she was officially addicted to how he made her feel. Oh how she hates autumn. Once again she’s asks herself in frustration: “How did this cruse happen”, “Why do I care?”… quickly flicking her cigarette out the window and shutting it she recites her coined catch phrase created; “What the was I thinking”.