ink on the brain

As she scrawled with black ink in her clean white notebook she thought about how everyone in life is a beginner. She realized that no one is ever entirely experienced when it comes to life. The only people who truly understand life are those who have already died. This bothered and comforted her. She turned to the next page of the notebook, which felt like a fresh start, and wrote a letter to her boyfriend who lived so far away. She told him that she was sick of waiting for them to get together after college, and that she wanted to be with him right now and forever. She was afraid of having regrets.

Safe. I’m always so safe when you’re holding my hands. I like to feel the lines of your palms and wonder if palm-reading has any truth behind it. When I’m scared, I hold your hand a little tighter. I like to hold onto one of your fingers at a time. My hands are so small compared to yours and they sometimes look so delicate and feminine. No one but children and people in love hold hands. Your hands make me realize why I am alive. I become invincible in your hands.

She went into the empty music store and walked to the third row of cds. She picked up the same cd she did yesterday, and the day before that, and every day that she could remember. She scanned the cd and put on the big headphones that deleted all of the outside world. She started the cd then laid down on the old carpet and cried, like she did every day.


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