Free The Counting-Downers by A. J. Compton Page B

On the wall opposite my deliciously large four-poster bed is a huge and colorful flower, complete with petals and a long stem that starts at the bottom left hand corner of the wall. The flower is comprised of photographs. Some are family ones, others of my friends and childhood, or favorite places.
    Photography is my favorite art form by far, and I hope to one day become a successful photographer, depending on how much time I have.
    My photo wall grounds and centers me in a way I can’t quite explain. Not only is it evocative and nostalgic, but it also reminds me why I love life and who I should live it for. Whenever I have a bad day, I spend time looking at each of the photographs and bringing the frozen moment to life in my mind.
    Bad days happened in between the photographs, as they always do, because people rarely capture the bad moments on film.
    But for me, the photographs serve the purpose of reminding me that even though life happened between one shot and the next, things became better enough to take the following shot. Things will always become better, the sun will always shine again, and life will one day be good enough again for you to take another photograph.
    My second favorite feature of my room is the wall behind my bed, opposite the flower photographs. My quote wall was my dad’s idea. He’d always say these sagacious and inspirational lines or phrases that came from his mind or ones wiser, and I always forgot to write them down.
    Around the time I was thinking of redecorating again, I mentioned to my dad that I needed to buy a book so I could make a note of every life-affirming quote or lyric I heard, and he suggested writing them on my wall instead. He got me like that.
    So in the different colors of the rainbow, painted in a mix of my curly and my dad’s jagged handwriting, are incredible pieces of advice from some of the world’s most perceptive people.
    Several spaces are blank, but I have leftover paint in one of my closets for future words that may speak to my soul. In light of recent events, it means even more than it did before to have dad’s words immortalized in color and air.
    The rest of my room speaks to my inner flower child. Fairy lights in the shape of a daisy chain hang over my window opposite the door, which looks out onto the garden and meadow when the golden drapes are open.
    While on the opposite wall by the door is a huge bookcase full of everything I ever need to escape reality for a little while: books, CDs, DVDs, and my cameras. They’re all I need.
    I didn’t want a clock in my room. I can’t stand the tick tick ticking. It stops me from sleeping.
    Heading over to one of my bedside tables, which doubles as a chest of drawers, I pull out my sleep shorts and one of my dad’s old t-shirts that I stole from my parent’s room a few weeks ago. It’s nothing special, just plain grey, but it still smells like him, and I’m dreading the day when it needs to be washed and the water takes my dad away with it.
    I’ve only been wearing it sparingly for that reason, but today is one of those days when I need to be surrounded by my dad. It’s the closest I’ll get to one of his comforting and protective hugs for the rest of my life.
    My dad’s hugs were like a force field, shielding me from reality and all that’s bad in the world. I can’t believe I’ll never be able to experience one again. It’s the smallest things you take for granted that end up being the things you miss the most.
    Never being hugged by my dad again is a depressing thought, so I try not to dwell on it as it can easily drag me under when I’ve been doing so well today. Placing the clothes on my bed, I remove the flowers from my hair. They don’t make a sound as I rest them on the table before undoing my long braid and running my fingers through it so that it ripples in oceanic waves which glide down my back and crest around my waist.
    I head to my en-suite bathroom to finish my nightly routine. I’m