| | Stuffy room thick with stale air. I stare at tan lankas, legs bared, and white chicas concealing winter skin behind long skirts, leggings, jeans. We were all ready to finish before we sat down. Sunglasses on and keys in my pocket, the world is waiting. But in this white washed room full of barely disguised boredom, I feel I am waiting on the world.
These are the days I can't think in a room. I can smell the sea air coming in with the tide. I can feel the grasses tickle my toes, branches scratch my vulnerable sunburnt arms. I can see cottonball clouds and blue sky, white-capped mountains and golden fields. These are the days of flip flops and sunglasses, cool water sprinkling new freckles, bubbling laughter running into late nights. Twirling in a field, falling into open arms to stare at stars that seem to last forever. These are the days we never stop running, never run away.
p.s. tomorrow is flunk day.
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| | Posted 4/30/2008 1:30 AM - 91 Views - 2 eProps - 0 comments
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