Literature
11.30.2016
Her shirt has a lace back, and her blue-green bra straps are rather garishly visible against the delicacy. Her lips are chapped, chewed on and worn down by the cold, and her blue eyes are anything but crystal-clear, clouded with doubt and worry. She picks at the skin of her lips and eyes her cell phone.
She’s got plenty of texts - conversations from a few friends, all of whom have remained unanswered for hours. She wants to talk to them, but she can’t gather the energy to even move. She feels tears prick at the corners of her eyes, but she’s too apathetic to even allow them to fall. No, she might as well sit here like a