I'm not ending as a tourist.

I know blog posts were due at 11:59 tonight,

and I may seem pathetic for starting this at 12:34.

I've feared writing this since day one, and wondering how I would go about it. 

So maybe I'll start with my name. 

My name is Cassidy McKeon.

I keep staring at those 13 letters 

&

reminding myself that if I say them enough times they will start to lose their meaning. 

Yes I've typed and re-typed my name nearly a dozen times, 

and finding words to sum up this semester is nearly impossible.  

So I'll keep it simple. 

Thank you to those who read, commented and better yet even just looked at my blog. 

Thank you to those with inspiring words and tumblr pictures. 

(I really did appreciate the pictures)

Thank you Nelson, for teaching me something that no one else has been able to.

Thank you. 

But let me just make one thing clear,

I'm not a tourist I swear.

I've been in Paris the whole time.

Even if I Tried

I remember an ivy covered house and hideous carpeted stairs.

I remember bus stops, and long talks.

I remember broken arms hurting less than broken hearts.

I remember Jack Johnson, third grade, and pancakes.


I remember the 5th grade crush, that seemed like the perfect candidate for my future husband.


I remember the first time I heard my favorite song.

I remember loose change, and quarters being as good as gold.


I remember yellow clocks, not because they kept track of the time, but because they were yellow.


I remember twin beds and hardwood floors.

I remember lucky charm marshmallows, more specifically the blue balloons.

I remember fingers caught in heavy doors.


I still listen to 15 by taylor swift because I remember being fifteen and even though I hated fifteen,
 I had that song.

I remember laughing until our ribs were sore.


I remember the first time I wanted to hear you say " I Love You." and how I never wanted it to stop, but it did. 

My problem is, that I live for the "I remembers".
&
I  couldn't forget them, even if I tried.