Today it is 48 degrees and beautiful, but I sure didn’t feel beautiful. As I walked to class I had to fight hard to put one foot in front of the other. Head down, last night’s make smeared across my face, I trudged to class. Once in class I tried to busy myself with the mundane assignments, but my mind would eventually drift off. No way had that really happened. What did I do wrong? How can I fix it? I stared out the window hearing his words over and over again, racing through my mind. “I just can’t be in this anymore. I just can’t be with you anymore.” I traced my finger along the scratches in my hard wooden desk, heart in my head.
The scratches on the desk are manifestations of the narrator's scratched psyche, yes? Lots of fun here.
ReplyDeleteWhat surface is the desk? Wood? formica? other?
ReplyDeletewhere did the edit button go?!
ReplyDelete