I'm smoking cigarettes outside again. I'm not sat by my tree because it’s surrounded by snow; I found another one. My running shoes are just barely soaked through, chilly chunks of white clinging on for dear life.
It’s thirty something degrees and dropping.
Despite feeling happy I haven’t really felt okay these last few days. It's a weird thing; I'm smiling bright and laughing loud, knowing there are tears dancing behind my eyelids, ready to leak from the slightest move.
I’ve been sick for three weeks, for all of this new year. I should go inside, I should take a warm shower, I should eat my soup, hot; I want to sit out here longer.
I got a surprisingly good set of reviews on my first piece for my English class, no critiques either, which I took with pride, a lot of it. I was happy, the tears kept dancing, though.
I wish my head would just be quiet. I wish a lot of things. I miss a lot of things. I feel like a mess. I skipped a meeting I had so that I could be here, I don’t feel regret nor remorse, I don’t know if I should, if I can muster either.
I wish I was stronger, braver, warmer. I wish my stomach didn’t hurt and everything was always okay.
About the Creator
daphne gray
just a girl in this world who thinks a lot and writes a lot and some of it makes sense and some of it doesn't. enjoy nevertheless.
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