S. S. Stories

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?

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

"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.

The icy air blew through Alba’s long, curly white hair with streaks of blood throughout. Her bare feet felt the chill of the ice she stood on and were warmed by the crimson puddles she walked through.