This has gone through a third edition (thinking that my English has gotten better).

Re edited: October 12th, 2015

Re-edited: July 22nd, 2011.

Another "Not in the mood" story. This is a one shot.

I need you all to know that this oneshot was a mess before Shimmering Glowing Star help. She is my beta, and corrected all the grammatical horrors I made before. Thank you so much, I have no words to express my gratitude. *2011

Piper sat on her bed, grabbed her notebook and took a pen. Then, she started writing.

August 6th, 1990:

Today is my last day as a sixteen-year-old, tomorrow I'll turn seventeen.

When I was a kid, I saw some 16 year-old-girls and thought, "Wow, they're just amazing human beings... I want to be like them in a near future... I wanna be a sixteen-years-old as soon as possible, and be cool, be pretty, hot, intelligent, with good grades and a nice boyfriend... I want to go out for a party at night with my best friends. I want to have a good relationship with my parents as I do now...yeah, sixteen... I'm going after you".

Today, when I'm actually sixteen, I can tell that anything that I had dreamed actually is happening in my life.

I'm not cool, pretty, hot nor intelligent.

I only get good grades because I have no social life.

I have never had a boyfriend. I never will.

I hate parties, but I love nights...but I spend them alone, without any friends to share them because it's just too hard for me to socialize when they hate's not my fault that I am a shy middle sister and a bookworm.

I don't have a good relationship with my parents...I have no parents. Only my grandmother is around here, trying to do her best...but, she has a lot of things to handle with Prue's college and Phoebe's rebellion. She has no time for me.

I'm still dreaming with my sweet sixteen... I'm still after my dreams, in my fairytales...not in reality...but, who needs reality when it's just... hell? Reality sucks. Reality isn't real. Reality is a word I don't know; I don't own; I don't use, because it doesn't exist in my vocabulary. There are a lot of words that I'm not able to use. My vocabulary is not actually broad, because words can't explain what a heart feels.

I'm turning seventeen.

I'm tired. I'm sleepy. I'm sad.

I'm a happy person. I'm fortunate. I'm lucky.

I know hasn't been easy, but, if you think about there someone who has had an easy life? NO. There isn't. Human beings are here to suffer. To cry. To feel their hearts broke once. Twice. A million times. Human beings think they're special. Unique. That no one understand them, that no one takes care about them, that they are totally alone and unhappy. And it's true. People should understand that, what their own heart wants; it's exactly the same what others wants.

We're not special.

We're one and the same. We're not alone; we don't wanna share. Nobody takes care of us, because we don't care about novody. We're not unhappy. I'm going to show you what's being unhappy and then you can talk... and I'm sure that if I do that, I am gonna find someone who's going to tell me that I have no idea what's suffering, what's pain, what's feeling desperate, miserable, what's dying and breathing, being conscious about it. And I'm gonna cry, feeling what he/she felt, but there will be another person, who's gonna tell us that we don't know what's suffering.

That's it: we don't know anything.

Everyone feels the same in a different way, we all want to go to the same place, and we all are from the same place, and we all will end underground with a cute and cinic grave with our names on, that it's ready and waiting for us since...the beginning.

I'm sixteen, and I'm not what I dreamed to be when I was younger, naïve, beautiful and with a real soul.

I'm sixteen, and when I was fifteen, I wanted to turn sixteen soon.

I'm sixteen, and I'm turning seventeen, and I want to turn sixteen again, and try to be what I dreamed with.

I'm sixteen. I'm turning seventeen, but I'm not dreaming anymore about what or how I wanna be in a future. I have dreams, I have hopes, I have an idea... but I don't want to waste my time, building a life I won't own. Building it and watch it falls.

Piper removed a tear from her smiling face, and looked at her watch.

"Happy birthday to me," she whispered, writing one last thing before her sisters came to her room to sing the happy birthday song, as every year at the same time.

August 7th, 1990.

I'm seventeen.

I hope you liked it =) I'm pretty sure it has some grammar mistakes, but I think it expresses a lot. An open and broken heart.