I can only imagine

A sheet of paper, no more

With ridiculously small font

Glares back at me, practically screaming, "I determine your future!"

As if trying to intimidate me,

Make me run from the tiny room,

The atmosphere closing in on me more every second,

Crushing my last hope of freedom,

to frolic in the sunlight just beyond the windowpanes.

The only source of fresh air in the dusty room wafts in

From the same location, the scent of blooming flowers on the ground below

Taunting me.

I sigh to express my mixture of concern and boredom,

Though I'm sure it's obvious by the expression on my face.

Quietness, though normally soothing

Is somewhat eerie here, for all that echoes in my ears

Is the tick-tock of the clock expertly positioned above the door

That some wish would hurry up, while others silently pray it will slow down

And the clicking pens of those who can't stop fidgeting for the life of them

Not to mention the soft scratching of pencil dancing across paper

And the following eraser, rubbing where a mistake has been made

A mistake, too many of which could change my life for the worse

Ruining me, taking away my ability to remain the same person

Something I've tried so hard to do as I grow up

As for growing up, what am I to do?

Provided that I pass this exam, what will I do?

I know what I want to be, what I have to be,

But what will happen when- or rather, if- I can't?

Thinking more positively, I start to imagine

What it would be like, the feeling of accomplishment you receive

After fulfilling your goal, your lifelong dream

All the things I can only imagine

I can only imagine walking by a coffee shop to see someone chuckling to himself or herself, or even just cracking a smile, my now bestselling novel in his or her hands.

I can only imagine the warm glow, the fuzzy warmth that spreads across my body as someone tells me that they loved my book, that it made them laugh and cry like their favorite romantic comedy, only better.

Or the feeling of a child running up to me and hugging me tightly squeals of, "Mommy! It's her! She wrote 'The Hamster's Lullaby'! " Resounding in the air.

All of these are things that I have not felt, not yet anyways.

But I will.

One day.

But as of right now, I am "too young" to search the world for joys such as these.

So for now, I can only imagineā€¦