The hawks are circling overhead as I walk across the field and I wonder if I’m dead. Or maybe I’m just dying and they’re just waiting. But that’s okay. The fear of dying without living is a widespread disease but the symptoms only appear occasionally. The music in my headphones is almost hurting my ears but I need to hear it this loud. I need to feel it affecting my core existence. When I’m in the center of the field I realize I left my blanket on the porch. I leave things on the porch a lot. I wonder if people drive by and try to piece my life together based on the things I leave out there. They’d say hmmm; a notebook and a pen, cream soda, nail polish, shoes, a flashlight, a sweater, and a blanket. She’s probably an insomniac who spends her nights outside in the field across the street. I’ve never actually done that though and I’d be too scared of night creatures to do so. I wish I was as daring as I imagine people think I am as they drive by my house. I’m actually just forgetful. I go back home and lose interest in the idea of sitting in the middle of the field along the way.
don’t look now, but they’re looking at you