sipping my ice chai
listening to music with earbuds
with the fire from a candle spreading a beautiful aroma, lavender with a hint of honey
writing in a notebook
flipping through pages of books
highlighting, underlining, and tabbing to make the book my own
hoping one day someone will do this to my writing too
surrounded by dark forest colors
the sun setting to paint the sky with orange and blue
sitting in gray sweat shorts
and an oversized long-sleeve
life isn't fair
I know this well
but all I want is to get what I give
to receive the compassion I give to those who also live
but that isn't what happens
and it is what it is
when I feel alone
I write because light paper can carry things
Things that are too heavy
What am supposed to do when I don’t have my journal
Am I meant to feel things?
"How much sleep did you get last night?" I look up from my slumped-over position to see my friend looking down at me with her plate of food. "Uh..." I say, rubbing my eyes. I think back to everything I did last night.
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