Teen You Pic -

The glossy surface of the 4x6 print is slightly tacky, a relic of a drugstore photo lab that hasn’t existed in a decade. I’m staring at a version of myself that feels like a fictional character—a kid with too much hair gel, a thrifted band tee that didn't fit, and eyes that were constantly searching for an exit sign.

I see the grip they have on their backpack strap, knuckles a little white. They were so afraid of being "average" that they almost forgot to be happy.

Teenage me lived in a world of paradoxes. I was loud with my friends but paralyzed by the thought of ordering a pizza over the phone. I thought I was an old soul because I listened to vinyl records, yet I didn't know how to do my own laundry. I wore my cynicism like a suit of armor, convinced that the world was a series of boring hurdles to clear before "real life" finally began.